


Ragged Like a Cedar Tree

by Muccamukk



Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Healing, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Reunions, Roommates, Second Chances, UCLA, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:20:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28775967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/pseuds/Muccamukk
Summary: Don transfers down to UCLA for the fall semester of 1946. Neither he nor Buck is prepared for the emotions their renewed friendship dredge up.
Relationships: Buck Compton/Donald Malarkey, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24
Collections: Fandom For Australia





	Ragged Like a Cedar Tree

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThrillingDetectiveTales](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThrillingDetectiveTales/gifts).



> Written for ThrillingDetectiveTales in gratitude for their donation to Fandom for Australia bushfire recovery auction. Sorry it's so late.
> 
> Thank you very much to Churchkey for beta reading, and to Anthrobrat and the rest of the HA chat for support and advice.
> 
> Resources studied and often subsequently ignored: Malarkey's and Compton's memoirs, Coming Out Under Fire, UCLA's 1946 yearbook, and way too friggen many Wikipedia pages about college football considering how much football is actually in this fic.
> 
> Title from "The Red Devil Himself" by Blue Moon Marquee.

Buck kept seeing Don Malarkey—in the crowded streets of Paris where he was assigned to "recover," on the ship back to the States, in the faces of the spectators at his games, among the crowds on campus, just randomly on the street. Buck would see a certain stoop of shoulders, or a flash of red-brown hair, hear a laugh. His head would snap around like he'd just caught a gleam of light off the barrel of a rifle, thinking _Don, Don, Don_ like he was about to scream it, and his heart would clench like he'd just taken a shoulder check right to the centre of his chest.

It was never Don, until one day it was.

It was a little after what Buck was still relearning to call four in the afternoon and not sixteen hundred hours, and he'd been crossing the campus alongside Jim Rustin, both heading to practice, talking about their chances against USC, Buck glad that he still had football, and that Jim wasn't asking him about anything else. Buck caught the gleam of sun on russet hair, started his usual double take, but already telling himself that it wasn't Don, it was never going to be Don again. Buck had fucked that up, too.

"Hey, Buck," Don said, no more than four yards away and standing there hugging his arms around his chest.

One moment Buck was frozen in place staring open mouthed at Don, not believing that he was really there, and the next the space between them had vanished, and Buck was the one who'd moved, who had his arms around Don so tightly that Don's startled laugh came out a breathless squeak. Buck thought he heard Don say his name again, but he was lost in pressing his face against Don's hair, searching for the scent that would bring it all back, and finding nothing. Don'd switched to a cheap American aftershave, and smelled clean like ivory soap and a trace of perspiration from the heat of the September sun.

Buck, was, he realised, giving a strange man a bear hug in front of his teammate. Worse, Don wasn't hugging him back. He was standing stiff in Buck's embrace, his folded arms like a fence between them. He let go with one arm, but kept the other looped around Don's neck, holding him in place.

"Jim," Buck said, too loud, smile too broad, "Come meet the man who saved my life."

Jim was staring at Buck with open-mouthed astonishment, but came over and held out his hand to Don, who still didn't seem to know what to do. They shook, and Buck added, "Don, this is Jim Rustin, the halfback who's going to get me back to the Rose Bowl this year. Jim, Sergeant Don Malarkey, best damn NCO in the 101st Airborne."

Don recovered, shrugged out of Buck's hold, and said, before Buck could ask, "I didn't save his life; I just saved his ass." It was the first lie of what Buck realised were going to be many. That, he understood, was why Don hadn't seemed happy to see him. Knowing anything about Buck's service was going to involve either deception or humiliation, and Don was too good a man for the latter. The next lie came quickly. "How're your feet?" Don asked, then added to Jim, "Last time I saw him, he had trench foot so bad the docs said they might cut them off."

Buck shook his head, mumbled something, he didn't even know what. "Fine," probably. He'd gone looking for Don when they were still in Austria, but found he wasn't with Easy any more. He'd been too late.

"What brings you to Los Angeles, Sergeant?" Jim asked, saving Buck the trouble.

Don shrugged. He was still standing close enough to Buck that the lift of his shoulder rubbed their jackets together. "Change of scene," he said. "Transferred down from Oregon."

Buck tried to remember what Don had been taking, what year he'd be in now. It didn't make sense for him to be here in the middle of Buck's life, standing in the middle of the UCLA campus like he had every right to be there, almost glowing in the afternoon sun.

"Hope you like it here, you should come to a game," Jim said, then to Buck, "Coach is going to kill us."

"Right." Coach _was_ going to kill them. He didn't tolerate showing up to practice any later than five minutes early. Buck would take getting reamed out if he could just stand next to Don for a few minutes more.

"Sounds like you have to go." Don bumped his shoulder against Buck's, nudging him away.

"Listen," Buck said, not moving an inch. He didn't know what he wanted Don to listen to, but he had to say something. "Listen. There's a diner just south of here, Rosa's, how about you meet me there for breakfast?"

Don hesitated, and Buck wished he knew if he was trying to think if he had a valid excuse not to go, or just genuinely didn't know his own class schedule yet. "Eight?" he finally asked, and Buck nodded.

"Yeah, eight. That's just fine."

Jim was already jogging away, not wanting to be on Coach's shit list because of one of Buck's war buddies, and Buck made himself follow. He kept looking back, checking over his shoulder to make sure that Don was still really there, standing in the California sun. From two hundred yards, he should have looked like any other student, but Buck could feel his heart pounding, _Don, Don, Don_ , with every step until he was out of sight.

* * *

Don would never chew Buck out like Coach had the day before, but Buck still showed up at the diner at seven fifty in the morning, in his best jacket that wasn't for a funeral, his shirt buttoned all the way to the collar. He thought, at the last moment as he sat down, that being so well put together made him look like a pansy, and his hands went to his top button, but just as he was about to undo it, Don walked in, and he let his hands drop. Buck hadn't fussed so much about his looks since he'd been on that first date after the war, and that'd been with his best girl since high school, give or take a Christmas Dear John letter.

"Hey," Don said, dropping into the padded red leather of the booth seating across from Buck.

"Hey," Buck answered, realized he was grinning, made himself stop, smiled again, and only then took in what Don looked like. He'd been too much of an apparition to actually see the day before, but now in the clear light of morning—after a night of tossing and turning in his now-empty bed, working out what to say—Buck could see him for what he was: clean shaven, clean generally, fuller cheeks like he'd been eating well, hair still army short, skin sallow like he hadn't slept any better than Buck had. Buck wanted to ask about why Don wasn't sleeping, but instead said, "The coffee here's good."

Don nodded. "Better than Joe Domingo's?" he asked, and smiled lopsidedly.

"You bet," Buck agreed, grip tightening on his own cup. It was still too hot to drink, and burned his palms through the white ceramic, but the pain was a good distraction. "So," Buck said after a pause.

"So," Don agreed. He smiled gratefully up at the waitress in a way that he hadn't when he'd seen Buck, pushing over his mug and asking for a menu, too. When she was gone, he said, "Don't think anything was as bad as Domingo's coffee, not even his beans."

Buck mostly recalled how grateful he'd been to have anything that even remembered being warm, the feeling of putting scraps of food in his belly to stave off the feeling of his body consuming itself as the cold ate away at his outsides. "You should try..." he started, then stopped. He'd been about to make a joke about his wife's cooking, but that was out of the question now. He went for a faint hope save, and said, "You should try the omelettes here."

"Yeah?" Don seemed to know that wasn't what Buck had started with, but did him the courtesy of looking at the relevant section of the menu for an eye blink before turning his attention on Buck. He told the waitress he'd have an omelette without looking up this time, that Irish charm having faded, and Buck couldn't tell what had changed. Don looked so damn tired, Buck couldn't stand it. "So you're back with the Bruins?" Don asked a moment later, "still centre guard?"

Buck nodded. "Best team UCLA's ever put out. We have a real chance this year," he said, like he always did, like a damn robot.

He watched Don play with his spoon. He kept tapping the bowl against the tabletop, a staccato beat too regular to be Morse code. It was like the machine gun beat of a man's bouncing knee before he put his hand on top of it to still his agitation, or at least his signs of agitation. "You've got another year, left, don't you?" Don asked. Of course he remembered.

Buck nodded. He didn't say that he'd interviewed for the law school at Loyola, but decided that he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't give the Rose Bowl another shot. He didn't say that he'd been chewing himself out about that all summer.

Don ducked his head, satisfied with the success of his recall. "You'll be out before me," he said. "I'm just starting as a sophomore. Well, sort of, they're still figuring out my credits."

"Why the change?" Buck asked. It must have been easier and far less expensive for Don to stay at the University of Oregon. In Europe, Don had hardly been able to stop talking about how much he missed the glistening waters of the Nehalem, the salmon and the blackberries, the way the Pacific smelled. He'd stayed for less than a year.

"Change of scene," Don said again. "Thought I'd come down and see those California girls you were always raving about."

"They living up to my promise?" Buck asked, and like that had been her signal, the waitress came back with a pair of omelettes, and Don looked her up and down out of the corner of his eye.

"Eh, they're about the same," he said before digging in.

Buck picked at his food while Don wolfed his down like he hadn't eaten in a week.

"Where you staying?" Buck asked.

"Sigma Nu house," Don answered around a mouthful of hash browns. "If they don't throw me out."

Buck had no idea what a man could possibly do to get him evicted from a fraternity house, especially Sigma Nu. "Looking for another place?"

Don shrugged, looking away. From the pink tingeing his cheeks, Buck guessed he couldn't afford much. "You know me, Lieutenant," he said. "I can talk my way into staying."

"All right," Buck said, spreading his hands. He knew Don was too proud for anything that looked like charity. Buck was already trying to talk Don into something they'd probably both regret, after an hour. Less than an hour—half a meal. This was how it always went: an uncontrolled plummet and an inevitable hard landing. How Buck had expected to train to be a lawyer he didn't know, when he couldn't put any kind of a stop to the words tumbling over his lips. Half his mind was screaming at him to shut up for Christ's sake, while the part that seemed to be behind the wheel was still gibbering Don's name. "Though I'd ask because I'm looking for a roommate right now. Had someone at the start of the semester, but it didn't work out. I'm working for Coach after practice, and there's the GI loans, but it's not enough to cover rent."

Buck had left a few crucial details out of that little briefing, but Don would get up to speed eventually. He wouldn't mind.

From the way Don had stopped eating and was looking at Buck with his head cocked, he already knew something was up, but he hadn't brushed Buck off, either, not immediately, anyway.

"Rent's pretty reasonable," Buck added, "and it's just a few blocks from here. You could walk to school."

Don was nodding slowly, like everything Buck said was coming together. It was like they were on patrol together, and Buck had just laid out a plan of action, where to put down the mortar fire maybe, that made sense to Don, and they both got the rush of comradeship and slotting into place like the bolt of an M1. Then Don frowned, and Buck felt his heart sink. He'd missed something.

"What?" he asked, then hastened to add, "You don't have to, just an idea."

"No, I..." Don glanced around, checking for the waitress, who was leaning on the counter mostly out of earshot. The booth next to them was empty, and Buck had his back to the wall. "Look, the thing is... uh... well, I guess the reason I'm on last warning a Sigma Nu is that I keep having nightmares, and they're pretty loud. The other fellows are tired of me waking up half the house a couple times a night. So I don't know if... Maybe it's not a good idea. I should try to find a place on my own, huh?"

Buck felt his stomach twisting like someone was running his guts through a mangler. He didn't know if it was from the idea of Don waking up screaming twice a night, and no one around him caring save that it inconvenienced them, or of the prospect of Don deciding that he needed to live all alone. Don had given everything it was possible to give for his country, save his life, and his reward was being made a pariah by boys not worthy of scraping shit off his shoes. "I don't care about that," Buck said. "It doesn't make a difference."

He'd hoped Don would be grateful for the offer, but he just looked sick still, and pushed his plate away with half the eggs still on it. "You don't have them, do you?" Don asked, then immediately looked shamefaced, but didn't retract the question.

"Not like that," Buck admitted, "but..." He fumbled for a way to describe the feeling of waking up and knowing that you'd dreamed of something both horrific and true, but the memory of which eluded you, only the sense of shame lingering. He never slept after that, would get up and jog across half the city, until it was time to go to class. "Like that, without the screaming. I think we all do."

"Do you?" Don demanded, a challenge in his voice. He thought he was being patronised.

Buck shrugged. He didn't have an answer for that either, nor much time for laying his feelings open to be picked over and commented on. "It doesn't matter," he said again. "If you're willing to split the rent, I'm happy to have you."

"I'll think about it, huh?" Don muttered, and turned back to his food. He ate mechanically now, his shoulders hunched over the plate like he had to protect it from the rain or snow, and eat it fast while some last trace of heat lingered in it, or before duty or dying men called him away. Buck felt a well of shame building in his gut. Don had been happy when he came in, if a little tired, and Buck's selfish need to keep asking for more had brought up bad memories. Was this what living together would be like? If Don agreed, would it be because he felt he owed Buck for something?

The thought made the coffee churn in Buck's stomach, and he added quickly. "I'm not making it an order or anything."

He'd thought that would maybe get a smile out of Don, but he just said, "Ha," and kept eating until the plate was empty. He pushed it away then, and tossed a pair of crumpled singles on the table. "I've got class."

"Sure, me too," Buck said, and stood, adding another bill, more than enough to cover both meals and a tip besides. Don gave Buck's half-empty plate a lingering look, as if he were considering saying something, or maybe eating it himself, but then tightened his mouth and led the way out of the diner.

"This place of yours got a phone?" Don asked as they pushed back out into the heat of the morning.

Buck thought for a second that was a condition, but then understood Don wanted his number. He reeled it off, and Don nodded, not bothering to write it down. He'd always had an incredible memory. "I'm home by eight, usually," Buck added, "Except game nights. You should come see me play some time," he added, then winced. He sounded like he had when he'd been making first awkward overtures to his girl, back when they'd first been dating in his junior year of high school. Could anyone looking at them standing there on the sidewalk, the way Buck was leaning in, see right through him? He bet Don could. He always had before.

"Never got that football game with the 502nd, did we?" Don said. "I'd like that."

They were standing at the corner, and Don had half his body turned from Buck, like the urge to leave was physically drawing him away, but kept one foot planted so near Buck's shoe that they could have been stitched together. Buck knew this wasn't the time to press, but he did anyway. "Let me know about moving, huh?"

"Yeah, of course," Don said, but that was what pushed him away, and he was dodging between moving cars crossing back to the campus, before Buck could ask him when he'd know. Probably for the best.

Buck stayed where he was until Don vanished around a corner and out of sight, then ran for it so he wouldn't be late.

* * *

Buck sat by the phone that night. Sure, he had his books spread out over the kitchen table, one of his few remaining pieces of furniture, and sure he was even turning the pages now and then, eyes scanning over the rows of text as though he could possibly take any of it in. He felt alert like he hadn't off the field since right after he'd shipped back. There was no way he could possibly miss a phone call in his cramped apartment, but still his spine trembled with anticipation of the old phone's jangling ring. Buck felt his skin itching, and wanted to shower until the feeling went away, but still stayed where he was, clutching his notebook and listening for the phone.

Don didn't call that night, not even though Buck stayed up to midnight, hours later than he usually packed it in, and he didn't call in the morning, even though Buck lingered as long as he could without making himself late for class. He hadn't stayed in his apartment that much in weeks, disliking the empty clattering space.

"You're looking low," Jim commented as they shuffled into Economics 423 together, finding their usual places towards the back. Buck shook his head slightly, trying to discourage comment, but he could tell that Jim wasn't going to give up on this one.

"Didn't get a whole lot of sleep," he said shortly, and turned to arranging his notebook and pens on his desk. They were both in class five minutes early, like Buck was for every class and every practice, and every day at work, and had been since he'd gotten back. The trick, he'd figured out in Paris, was to go through every motion in exact time, and if your body was moving, your mind followed along eventually.

"Missing..." Jim started to stay, but broke off on Buck's look. Instead, he asked, "You see much of your war buddy from the other day? That Irish kid?"

Buck shook his head again. "Not really," he said, making his tone light. "I think he's got a lot on his plate starting at a new school. Said he'd try come to a game if he could."

"Not this week's," Jim said automatically, his brain switching to football like Buck had flipped a switch. "Away game, remember?"

"Of course," Buck said, and he did remember, but unlike Jim his mind hadn't been fixated on the gridiron.

"Not that it'll be worth watching anyway," Jim continued, not noticing Buck's lack of attention. He leaned forward like a cat about to pounce, then glanced around to make sure there were no other students in earshot before saying in a low, predatory voice, "Huskeys are a bunch of cocksucking fairies that won't know what spanked them."

"Sure won't," Buck said, the words automatic, the grin practiced as he told himself he was agreeing with the sentiment, not the choice of words. Though of course the words were a sentiment in and of themselves. That was fine. Buck didn't care what Jim thought of... That was fine. Buck kept smiling. This and football were the two games he was good at. "But we got Stanford at home next week. Might see if I can get Don a ticket to that, If he's interested."

Jim started to say something back, but the professor came in, and Buck forced his attention to the numbers on the blackboard.

Don probably wouldn't be interested anyway. He'd just said he'd call to get Buck off his back. It wasn't like there was any reason to renew the wartime connection, no matter what it had been. They both knew what Buck was, all the things Buck was, and Don wouldn't want any part of that, not if he had a choice. He'd been friendly enough, but Buck had seen Don be friendly to German PoWs. Don was, by nature, a friendly guy. It didn't mean that he was a friend, not any more.

No matter what Don had said when they'd parted on that snowy field in the Ardennes, Buck knew that he'd lost Don's respect, and had lost the respect of all of his boys.

Jim had to shake Buck at the end of the class. "It's okay," he said, "you can share my notes."

"Thanks, you're a pal." Buck nodded, dazed. He had been somewhere else more than he'd been asleep. That hadn't happened for months, that sort of lost time. Another reason it was a good idea for him and Don to keep their distance.

He got back to his apartment late, and went straight to bed without even turning the lights on. He'd found it was easier that way, though once he got into the bed and found it was empty pretending got a little more difficult. Still, that was why Buck worked so hard that he almost always fell straight to sleep.

One of those imageless, clinging dreams had overtaken Buck when the ringing phone jolted him awake. He was one his feet next to it before his brain even clued in that he wasn't in bed any more, let alone that he had the receiver in his hand and was saying something, who knew what, into the hissing line.

"Buck?" That was Don's voice, but small and far away, and not just because of the bad connection. Buck tried to check his watch, but he wasn't wearing it, and he couldn't see the kitchen clock in the dark. It had to be the middle of the night.

"Yeah," he said, voice rough. "Yeah, I'm here."

"I..." Don trailed off, and Buck gripped the phone so tight his fingers started to tingle from the lack of blood.

"It's all right, Donny," Buck said, knowing it was anything but. "It's... what time is it?"

A pause followed, and something clattered in the background. Buck wondered if like him Don was standing in just his shorts in the middle of the room holding onto the phone like a man drowning. "Two fifteen," Don said finally. "I'm sorry, I..."

He was drunk, Buck realised, finally hearing the slur in his words, and that scared him more than anything else. "Where are you?"

Another pause, this time Buck listened past the rough breathing, and tried to make out any kind of background noises, but he couldn't hear anything.

"Don, you okay?"

The line went so still that Buck thought for a moment that Don had quietly hung up leaving Buck pleading with a dead connection. Then, finally, Don pulled in a ragged breath and asked in the smallest voice Buck had ever heard, "Can I come over?"

Buck's world swayed like a minor earthquake had rumbled through the apartment, and he braced his hand on the wall to stay upright. "Yeah, of course," he said. "You got a pen?" When the shuffling on the other end seemed to reach a conclusion, Buck read off the address and made Don repeat it back to him.

"I'm not that far," Don said, then, and Buck wished he knew if that was a fact or drunken bravado.

"Where are you?" he asked again, thinking he could get dressed and go out and find Don, like a shepherd, or maybe a sheepdog, but the line clicked, and Don was gone. "Goddammit," Buck muttered, and drew his arm back to throw the receiver, before gritting his teeth and setting it back on the cradle. Maybe Don would call back.

Don didn't, of course. After five minutes, Buck shook his head and put some pants on, turned on the light in the kitchen, and made a pot of coffee, then sat next to the phone again. A moment later he was up, peering out the bedroom window down to the street, looking for the familiar figure shambling along, hands in his pockets, probably humming something by Glenn Miller.

It was too easy to go from that thought to picturing Don unconscious in the gutter, hit by a car, rolled by a couple of punks for the contents of his wallet. Telling himself that Don had been a sergeant in the 101st Airborne Infantry Division didn't help, either. That had failed too many men.

When forty minutes had passed, Buck slipped on a light jacket and was hunting down his hat when, taking a last glance down at the street, he saw a pair of slumped shoulders he'd know anywhere, even in the dark, even half hidden by a too-big jacket and a shabby hat. Buck flew down the three flights to the lobby, leaving the stove on and the door off the latch, and was half way out into the street before he remembered that he didn't have his keys, and was about to lock both of them out of the building. He caught the door at the last second, and was able to hold it open for Don as he ambled up.

"Glad you could make it," Buck said acerbically, but Don just nodded and walked in.

They trudged back up to Buck's apartment without saying anything, but when Don got in and Buck got the door closed, Don looked at him with wide, wet eyes, and Buck couldn't do anything other than pull him against his chest and hold him close. "It's all right," he said, like he was a robot with only one recording strip fed in.

Don didn't say anything, just grabbed a double handful of Buck's shirt and hung on for dear life. His hat fell off as he pressed his face into Buck's shoulder, and Buck got a nose full of sweaty hair so familiar that his hands started to shake as he tried to pat Don's back and figure out how the hell to keep him from crying. Buck didn't think he could take Don crying, right then or maybe ever.

In the end, he wrapped his arms around Don's shoulders, making soft shushing noises and rocking them back and forth like they were teenagers at their first slow dance.

Finally, Don's breathing steadied out so much that Buck half wondered if he'd gone to sleep right there cradled against his chest. He'd seen men sleep standing up before. "Donny?" he asked softly, and when Don sniffed in response, "I made some coffee."

Buck felt Don pull himself together before even them really moved. Don's head lifted and his shoulders drew back, steel straightening his spine. Finally, he took a step back, shrugging out of Buck's arms and nodded slightly. He was still drunk, still holding on by the skin of his teeth, but he looked like a trooper now, more so because of his sallow skin and wild hair than despite them.

"Coffee'd be good. Thank you, sir."

Letting the "sir" go, Buck nodded to the kitchen side of the single open room and Don followed him there. Fortunately he still had two chairs, and was able to install Don in one before he fell over. "It's probably gone stale," Buck muttered. It'd been close to simmering on the element for half an hour.

"Better than Army coffee," Don promised even before he tasted it.

Buck poured himself a cup and sat down. The kitchen clock read ten past three, and he didn't think he'd sleep again no matter what happened. He reached across the table and touched Don's wrist, waiting until he looked up to ask, "What happened?"

Don shook his head and looked away, pulling the mug close to his chest with both hands. "Couldn't sleep, went for a walk," was all he said. It wasn't enough, but it was enough for Buck to piece together the rest of the night, how the walk had ended at a bar, and one drink had ended in another. "Sorry to be a bother. I didn't mean to call you so late. Shit."

"I told you to call me." The coffee was awful. Buck scalded his tongue on it anyway.

"I don't think—" Don started to say.

"I meant any time." He didn't say that he'd already decided that Don was never going to call, and that Buck wouldn't see him again outside of the stands on game day, but somehow he had enough sense to keep his trap shut about that, even at three in the morning. "While you're here, why don't you take a look 'round the place, see if you like it enough to put up with me?"

Looking around was more a process of standing up and turning in a circle, but Buck pointed out the few features, and Don nodded like Buck was Nixon showing him the topography of a Kraut village.

"There's not a whole hell of a lot of room," Buck admitted, "but we can put a cot over where the couch was."

He'd thought that Don would take that chance to ask where Buck's last roommate had slept, but he just nodded to himself and said that sounded fine. His tone still implied that he wanted to think the whole thing over, that he wasn't sure any of this was a good idea.

Buck wasn't sure either; rather he was sure none of this was a good idea, but he held the same conviction that he'd do just about anything in the world to keep Don' from leaving. "You can have my bed for tonight," he added, and then when Don's head swivelled to look at him with owlish alarm, added, "I'm going for a run."

"Right." Don said that like Buck had confirmed something Don had long suspected, but he'd be damned if he knew what that was.

Buck hadn't been going for a run, but he changed into his PT gear now anyway, and left Don staring at the bed as if he didn't know what it was.

* * *

The sun was just rising when Buck got back, having covered about ten miles at a pace Coach would have cursed him out for.

He crept into the apartment, easily falling back into the habit of sharing space, but he didn't really need to have bothered trying to be quiet. Don was lying face down on top of the covers, only having taken off his jacket and shoes, sleeping open-mouthed with a growing splotch of drool spreading across Buck's pillow.

Buck sucked in a breath and made himself look away. The noose closing around his heart didn't ease, not as he showered, not as he walked back into the kitchen and made some decent coffee, not as he heard Don stir and stumble blearily into the bathroom.

Buck was dressed for the day by the time Don emerged, not smelling much better than he had when he'd gone in.

"You could've used my razor," Buck said as he handed Don coffee, but Don shook his head again.

"I'll go by Sigma Nu before class," he said, "Get my stuff."

"You don't have classes on Friday morning, do you?" Buck asked, trying to laugh it off at the same time as he wondered how many nights a week Don packed back enough booze to forget what day it was.

"Friday? Oh, oh right. Yeah. Jeez. No, I don't."

Buck decided that he didn't hate anything in the world so much as Don refusing to look him in the eye, but he couldn't do anything about that, so he just asked if Don wanted some eggs.

"I can chip in for groceries," Don said automatically, like Buck had implied he was a charity case, and Buck sighed, wondering if this was going to be more trouble than it was worth. He didn't want to do this dance with Don. If he could afford it, he'd have paid for everything himself, room, board, Don's tuition while he was at it, but of course that was the kind of generous impulse that got a man in trouble. Don didn't want to be kept, certainly not by the likes of Buck.

"You can pay for the eggs after you've tried 'em," Buck assured him.

Don snorted and settled. After that, breakfast wasn't as bad as Buck had feared it would be. Don talked about where to get a cot, and borrowing a friend's car to bring it and his trunk over from the fraternity house. It seemed like a switch had flipped somewhere inside Don, and whatever black dog had followed him last night was gone, replaced by the model of a cheerful Irishman and his plans for a bright future.

If you kept moving, your mind would have to follow along where your body was taking it.

"Look," Buck said as Don insisted on clearing and washing the dishes, "I got practice all afternoon, and an away game up in Seattle tomorrow, so I'm not going to be around much until Sunday. There's a ring of keys by the door, and you can use my car, if you like. Beat up grey Ford on the corner. Make yourself at home."

Don stiffened slightly at the last comment, then turned from the sink and smiled at Buck. "Thanks. I really appreciate it."

"Hey, you're doing me a favour, right?" Buck said, waving Don off.

"Sure." Don returned to the sink, rinsing the last fork, before wiping his hands on a towel and turning to face Buck. He leaned against the edge of the counter, bracing both hands on the rim of the sink behind him. He took a breath before he said anything, and it was almost enough time for Buck to steel himself. "So I guess your wife left you, huh?"

Buck flinched. Jim and a couple of the guys had taken him out drinking that night, but otherwise everyone else who'd known had made a point of not mentioning it. Buck nodded slowly, trying to think how he could give enough detail to get this conversation over with, but not lie. "The note said, well, I guess I wasn't any good as a husband. Not much of a surprise there." He had been trying, no matter what she'd accused him of, but by the end they'd both known that Buck's best hadn't been good enough.

"This the same girl from before, or do you have a nose for broads who write shitty letters?" was all Don wanted to know.

Trying to laugh it off just choked Buck's throat so he shook his head slightly and said, "Same one. Talked her into giving me another shot."

"You really don't know how to quit, huh?" Don said, voice all sympathy. He'd have that loyal hound dog look all over his face, if Buck could bring himself to look at him. Instead, Buck rubbed a hand over his eyes and didn't say anything. They both knew how true that was. If there was one thing Buck seemed to have gotten down to an art, it was quitting at exactly the wrong time. "Well, I'm sorry to hear it," Don added, when the weight of his words filled the space between them, seeming to push out all the oxygen. "Her loss."

Buck got up and walked into his bedroom to get his gear bag. There wasn't a hell of a lot to say that hadn't been covered in that damn note. It had, in a way, felt good to read confirmation of what he knew to be true, but then her honestly was something he'd always loved about her. He still loved that about her, too bad she wasn't still around to tell.

He could see the apology in Don's face when he came back out, and shook his head to ward it off. The last thing Buck needed to hear was that Don was sorry for prying, as if he didn't have a right to know if he was moving in here. Buck shouldn't be making such a fuss about it anyway. This was LA. People got divorced all the time. Eventually, he was even going to find a lawyer and sort out the details of who was going to charge whom with what to get the whole thing over with. He figured he'd just admit to whatever she wanted to fling at him. It seemed easier.

At least he had practice and a game. "I'll see you Sunday," Buck said over his shoulder, and Don gave him a half wave and watched him soberly.

* * *

Coach lit into Buck for having gone on such a long run on a practice day, for looking tired, for missing a block, and Buck nodded grimly and promised he'd do better. He would do better. Coach's voice telling him he didn't tolerate slackers on his team had kept Buck going through more than one sodden miserable night in Normandy, though not, in the end, through enough.

They slept on the train up to Seattle, and Buck wondered if Don had gotten that cot yet, or if he was sleeping in Buck's bed again. He knew he shouldn't hope for the latter, shouldn't want to come back and find his pillow smelling of that cheap cologne that Don wore now, but he did.

The Bruins trounced the Huskies, and for three hours, Buck forgot everything except how his body could move the way he wanted it to, the world dissolved into the grace of men's forms almost dancing, and the roar of tens of thousands of voices drowning out the slap of pigskin on gloved hands.

He slept on the train back down, too, a dead sleep without the lurking pull of those dreams, and woke as they pulled into LA Sunday morning.

As Buck jogged up the stairs to his apartment, he wondered if Don would be out at church or something, but his hat was by the door when Buck got in. It didn't take long to find anyone in a space that small, and a glance showed Buck's bedroom just as he'd left it, a cot folded against the wall, and Don in a kitchen chair with a textbook in front of him, staring at nothing.

"Hey," Buck said, dumping his bag to unpack later. He followed his nose until he found the coffee pot, and filled a mug.

"Hey," Don said, nodding slightly. "I heard the game on the radio. Rough start, but you handed it to 'em in the end."

Buck slid into the chair across from Don and talked easily about football while he studied Don's face. He looked better than he had two days before, more colour in his cheeks and without the wounded look. It made it easier for Buck to keep his hands on his side of the table, rather than reaching out to try to offer what small comfort he could.

"You got any plans?" he asked once every inch of play had been described and approved of.

Don shrugged. "Well, I should review for that quiz Tuesday, but"—he looked up at Buck and flashed him a grin, the exact grin he'd been wearing when he and More lifted that motorcycle—"What do you say we blow school and to go to the movies?"

Winters had always blamed Buck when his NCOs dragged him into trouble, but Buck didn't think even Dick would have been able to turn down a smile like that. "Sure, what's on?"

"Let's go find out."

They ended up going to a musical, the kind of swinging jazz that Don loved, and left the theatre singing. Don was a choir boy, with a pure, true tenor, and he didn't care about holding back. He had a spring in his step that Buck hadn't seen since before Market Garden, since… well, it had been a long time. Buck slung an arm around Don's shoulders and they walked like that down the busy sidewalk outside the theatre.

Buck half expected to hear Joe Toye joining in, just far enough off key to drive Don nuts, but voice filled with so much gusto that Buck had never cared. But of course Joe wasn't here. Buck hadn't had word from him or any of the other fellows since they'd shipped home. He almost asked if Don knew what'd happened to any of them, but thought of Skip Muck and shut his mouth again. It was enough to walk with Don now, both alive and with the whole world open to them.

Don's hat was pushed back on his head, and his face was ruddy in the afternoon sun, lit by a sheen of perspiration and the animation in his eyes. Buck kept shooting him sideways glances and letting Don's happiness lift him up in a way he hadn't felt outside of a game since he'd come back and found his apartment stripped and his wife gone.

"I know a good place for burgers," Buck said, not wanting to go back to those cramped rooms, not yet.

"Sure." Don let Buck steer them down the right cross street and into the back booth of a diner.

A crowd of high school kids or maybe freshmen filled the window seats, hollering to each other and sharing milkshakes, but the back booths were quiet enough. Don was still humming the refrain from the closing number, drumming his fingers in the edge of the table to mark the crescendo. He didn't even notice the waitress, until she cleared her throat. She had a dimpled smile for both of them, but Buck's heart was so light that he forgot to flirt with her, almost reached across and took Don's hand before he caught himself and shoved them under the table. It wasn't yet four, but Don ordered them both beers and Buck didn't get the chance to say he didn't want one.

Buck sipped his cautiously when it came, watching as Don took a long swig, his throat bobbing. He smacked his lips when he was done, and smiled at Buck. "Can't beat American beer," he said, "not like that limey stuff, huh, Buck?"

"Didn't see the limey stuff slowing you down when we were over there," Buck commented. Don hadn't been a heavy drinker, at least not when he was in a room with Joe Toye or Harry Welsh, but he'd kept up with most of the guys. Of course, Buck had too, back then.

Don shrugged. "Beggars can't be choosers." He took a more measured sip of the beer and turned back to the menu. "I'll tell you though, buddy, they didn't have burgers like this in Aldbourne."

"No they did not," Buck agreed.

When the girl came back, Don seemed to notice her for the first time and flashed her a million-watt smile as he made his order. She smiled back, and then it was all a tilt of her hip and a knowing look from there. Buck would put a sawbuck on Don's bill having her number scrawled on the back. Don's quiet charm had always served him well. Even if he'd never been a horndog like Guarnere and the rest, Buck had never seen a target of Don's smile that hadn't folded eventually.

Buck decided that not competing for the girl's attention was his way of giving Don a break, but when she was gone, he asked, "What happened to that girl you used to write to?"

"Who?" Don asked, his face such a blank that for a moment Buck thought he hadn't remembered it right, but then Don seemed to understand. "Oh, _her_. Naw, she didn't stick around. Came by once, after I got back, but I wasn't much good for her by then."

He didn't seem broken up about it. If anything, Don looked relieved. What would Buck's life have been like if he hadn't made that phone call as soon as he'd put his boots on American soil? He'd been so eager to win her back, then. He might know better now, he thought, but then he looked at Don, and thought maybe he hadn't learned a damn thing.

Don had finished his beer by the time the food came, and ordered another. Buck shook his head at the waitress's glance.

"You turning into Major Winters?" Don asked when she was gone.

Buck shook his head slightly. "I guess I go easy when the season's on," he said. "Coach'd bench me in a heartbeat if I showed up anything less than a hundred percent. Gotta be careful."

"Sure, all right," Don said, eyeing Buck's glass, which was still two thirds full. He looked down at the placemat in front of him, then glanced up real quick, grinning, "So what you're saying is that when the season's over..."

"I'm not exactly a Quaker," Buck confirmed, though it wasn't quite true. He seemed to have left his partying days behind him somewhere in Europe, and never reacquired the taste back home.

"No you are not!" Don agreed, and laughed. then started in on all the hell he and Buck had raised in those fevered months between Normandy and Market Garden. He was working start to finish, and as he passed by the girls in Guarnere's attic and that night in London where they'd ended up on the roof, Buck felt a building sense of unease.

It had been all songs and easy touches then too, a hand on the back of the neck, the small of the back, the hip, flushed, laughing faces pressed together as both struggled to breathe, sharing beds in shitty London billets and sleeping on each other's shoulders on the train. It had been like this, but more so, and with more of them packed together, breathing each other's air.

It had ended like Buck had known it would from the start, like watching a steam engine on a shallow downward grade, slowly picking up speed. He felt like that now, too. Listening as Don got closer and closer to that last night in Aldbourne.

"They sure have good chow here, huh?" Buck asked, cutting Don off mid sentence. Don looked up at him with a startled expression, then did a double take to make sure he was still holding the same burger.

"Yeah, sure," he said, like he was expecting Buck to spring the other half a joke on him. "It's good."

Buck felt his scalp prickle with embarrassment, and hoped the flush wasn't showing on his face, but pressed forward anyway. "Hey, you know it's homecoming week, starting tomorrow. The rally committee's going to have us jumping, with the coronation and the dances and all that bunk. You got any plans? Who you going to the dance with?"

Don blinked at Buck like he'd started speaking Russian or something. "Um, well... I guess I hadn't thought about it much. Doesn't seem like I've met many girls since I got here. I guess Sigma Nu'll have something going with one of the sororities, but..." Don trailed off, shaking his head. He'd never been much of a dancer, but Buck knew Don loved a live band more than anyone he'd ever known.

"You're not going to skip out on it, are you?" Buck demanded.

Another shrug. Don took a huge bite of his burger to avoid answering.

Buck planted his elbows on the table, leaning forward. "Listen, I don't have anyone either. I was going to take the missus, but obviously..." he waved his hand through the air, and only wondered for a moment that he was able to mention her without feeling like someone had kicked him in the nuts. "Anyway, why don't we both just go together, find girls there."

Don looked up and considered Buck, like he expected some catch to the question. "Girls?" he asked, and Buck wanted to shake some sense into him and tell him of course you made sure people saw you with girls. The more the better. Then Don shrugged. "Sounds all right," he said, "Better than staying home."

"Gee, thanks." Buck put his hand to his chest like Don had shot him through the heart, and that got Don's smile back.

"Just thinking Mr. Gorgeous Football Star is going to have the ladies all over him soon as he steps in the door, but maybe you can shake one off for little old me."

Buck stole one of Don's fries, and tried not to purr at Don calling him gorgeous. "It's usually the backs not the guards who get that kind of trouble," he commented, "but I'll see what I can do."

"I'm sure we'll rustle something up between us." Don gave him one of those goofy lopsided grins, and added, "It'll be like old times."

"Hopefully without the flak," Buck commented, wondering how much like old times, exactly, and which part of that he wanted back.

"From the Germans or from Major Winters?"

"Either, both." Buck almost said something about it being without pouring Don into bed, either, but closed his trap just the idea crossed his mind. None of that was his place, and Don wouldn't listen anyway.

Indeed, Don had finished four beers to Buck's one by the time they left, and wanted to go out again.

"I gotta hit the sack early," Buck protested. "I don't have a night out in me."

"What are you, an old man?" Don asked, and linked his arm through Buck's to pull him back towards the avenue the theatre had been on.

Buck swallowed. He remembered how small and lost Don had sounded calling Buck up at three in the morning, out there somewhere in the night, alone. He didn't want that to be every night Don was living with him, or even a single time more. At the same moment, he didn't want to encourage Don by turning himself into his drinking buddy.

 _A drunk is a drunk is a drunk,_ he thought, stomach knotting with painful memories. If Don was going to do this to himself, there wasn't a damn thing Buck could do to stop him, and trying would only make it worse. He'd tried it before with his father, and the regret would stay with him until he died, and travel with him to whatever place his soul went after that.

He was standing frozen in the middle of the street, unmoving against Don's pull on his arm. "Coach'll have my balls," was all he could think to say. "After a game is one thing, but on a Sunday night?"

Something nasty twisted across Don's face, and Buck braced himself for another belittling remark, but then Don grimaced and muttered, "Maybe you're right. Heck, we're going to have more than one chance to go out this week."

"Sure," Buck agreed. He wrapped his arm around Don's shoulders again and let his relief wipe out any thoughts of the entire UCLA campus turning into a week-long party, of which he was going to be one of the stars.

Don had brought a radio when he'd moved in, and sang along with it as he puttered around the kitchenette making tea. Buck's ex had taken the radio along with most everything else, and it was nice to have music in the place again. He liked changing for bed and brushing his teeth and hearing another body moving around, too. The weeks he'd had the place to himself had been stark and lonely. He should probably hit the books for a bit, but instead Buck went to bed and left the door ajar so that he could listen to Don sing.

* * *

Later that night, Buck flew out of bed and was in the kitchenette before he even knew what was happening. All he could tell was that the world was full of danger, and he had to be ready to defend himself. He had his hand on the knife block, standing in a half crouch before his ears started to process what he was hearing.

Don was screaming. It wasn't the muffled grunt of a man in pain, but a wail like a woman whose heart was breaking. The sound made Buck's hair stand on end and his heart pound. He turned the light on in the kitchenette, letting it spill out across the living space and Don's cot. He was thrashing, blankets wrapped around his legs, arms flailing as each sound tore from his throat.

Not sure what to do, Buck went over and crouched next to the cot, watching Don for a moment before he reached out and grabbed the edge of the bed frame, shaking it lightly. "Don, buddy, wake up!"

Don started, turning to look at Buck with wide eyes that didn't see a damn thing. Shaking the bed harder didn't help, and Buck didn't want to grab him when he was like this, not if it risked shocking him. He'd seen guys get punched in the eye trying something like that.

"Donny, come on, it's just a dream." Buck was trying to pitch his voice low and soothing, but the fear clawing at his throat pitched it up, making a demand out of what should have been a request. "Please, wake up."

At least Don wasn't talking. Buck didn't think he could stand whatever he might say, but the shriek that ripped from Don's throat said it all anyway; it was a cry at the loss of Skip and Alex, at the mutilation of Joe and Bill, Buck's abandonment of him, the whole war being torn out of Don's chest and given voice. Buck couldn't stand it.

"Malarkey!" he snapped and rattled the bed as hard as he could.

Don sat bolt upright, blindly taking a swing at Buck, who fell back on his ass to avoid it, and then froze.

"It's just a dream," Buck said again, though it hadn't been.

"I know that," Don muttered. He pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around him, hiding his face in the curve his body made. He'd been sleeping in just his shorts, and his bare back gleamed with sweat.

"You're all right here," Buck told him, another lie.

"I know that!" Don wouldn't lift his head, wouldn't look at Buck. His back heaved as he hauled in breath after breath. "Well, I guess I warned you, huh?"

"It's fine," Buck told him. He rolled forward onto his knees and lifted a hand to put it on Don's shoulder, but didn't know it would be welcome. He hovered there for a moment, then dropped it to his side. He wanted to take Don into his arms and hold him tight until the shaking stopped. "You did warn me."

Don's body rocked back and forth as he shook his head. "I don't..." he started, but broke off. "I'm sorry for waking you up."

"It's fine," Buck said again, at least this refrain was familiar. He told himself that all the time. He should come up with something better, some kind of declaration that he'd do anything in the world for Don, and that losing a few minutes of sleep was nothing hovered in his thoughts, but Don didn't want to hear that. Buck stood and went back into the kitchen, his bare feet silent on the linoleum. He stood braced against the counter for a moment, then filled a glass of water and brought it back to Don. He nudged the edge of the glass against Don's knee and held it steady until Don took it.

"Water?" Don asked after he took a sip.

"Well, it's not gin," Buck replied.

Don just grunted and took another sip.

He stayed crouched next to the bed until Don had finished the glass. His breathing had evened out by then, but he still kept his body curled in on himself, and he still wouldn't look Buck in the eye.

Buck took the glass back and asked, "You going to be all right now?"

Finally, Don turned to him. His eyes were narrow slits against the light of the kitchen, his jaw clenched so hard it shook. "You don't have to baby me," he snapped.

It hit like a slap, but Buck knew how to take a punch. He set his jaw and he held himself in place, not flinching back a hair. He remembered Don reading to him while he was curled up in a ball on some stinking hospital cot, the pain of trench rot in his feet nothing to his heart feeling like it'd been cut open, how gentle Don had been then, even when Buck had unmanned himself and wept. What in the world could Buck do that would begin to pay that back?

It came to him all at once that the best thing he could do for Don was let him have his way. He didn't want Buck to see him down like this any more than Buck had, then.

"I don't mind," Buck said, but he was already standing, going back to his room. He turned out the kitchen light, and padded back to his bedroom. "Goodnight," he said from the doorway, but Don didn't answer. Buck hesitated for a moment more, listening to the sound of Don's raspy breathing in the dark. They both knew that Don wouldn't sleep again that night, and Buck probably wouldn't either.

He did drift off though, and when he woke, Don had already left for school.

* * *

Homecoming week turned into a blur. Some genius had decided that the year's theme was going to be "A Day at the Beach," and while Buck couldn't argue with everyone wearing bathing suits, it left an awful lot of sand to put in place, and everyone seemed to think the football players should help. It also left the Navy and Marine vets sauntering around like they owned the place, as if the Army had never taken and held a beach.

It seemed like there was a dance or a social every night, and often something happening in the afternoon, and Buck frankly didn't see Don other than when they got up in the mornings. If Don woke up screaming again, Buck was too tired to hear it. Neither of them mentioned what had happened in the dark hours of Monday morning, but it hung between them each time they passed in the hall.

Buck had no idea what was happening in his classes, and the rally committee had everyone running in circles to no purpose, as far as he could tell. By the time they got to the parade on Friday, Buck was starting to wonder if he should have just stayed in the damn Army. He had a vague memory of it being less work.

Coach took one look at Buck on Friday night and told him to go the hell to bed, and that he didn't want to see him until warm up before the game. Buck went home and fell into bed, sleep only interrupted by the sound of Don coming in late, singing softly to himself.

The Bruins played Stanford the next afternoon. Buck looked up to the stands when he could and picked out Don's face in the family section, watching his every move. He played harder, and the homecoming ball turned into a victory party. Buck had to stage an escape to make it back to his apartment and change before someone dragged him to the Biltmore in his football uniform.

"Hey, stranger," Don said as Buck stumbled in. He was in pressed suit pants and an undershirt, suspenders hanging at his hips, shaving cream all over his face. Colonel Sink's comment about how you shaved in the morning for the men, and if you wanted to shave in the evening for the ladies that was up you darted through Buck's mind.

Don'd finished shaving by the time Buck had showered and changed, and had his jacket on and his hair combed back and gleaming. The Brylcreem couldn't dampen the colour, nor Buck's desire to run his hand through it and disarrange it. Buck reached out, meaning to do something in that line, but Don twisted and ducked out of his reach. He tried to dart out the bathroom doorway past Buck, but Buck twisted his hip to pin Don between his body and the jamb. He ruffled Don's hair out of all order, laughing as Don squirmed and squawked in outrage. Don'd switched to Buck's aftershave, and smelled musky and sweet. They were both warm from the shower, and Buck's skin was still damp. Don's cheeks were pink with laughter, like they had been that last night in Aldbourne, and like that night it would be so easy to just...

Buck stepped away, giving Don room to wiggle free. Instead of either ducking back into the bathroom to fix his hair, or escaping Buck's reach, Don stayed where he was, his back to the door frame, hands at his sides. He was looking up at Buck with a question in his eyes, lips parted uncertainly, like he didn't understand why Buck had let him go.

Was that how Don had thought it was going to go from the moment Buck had asked him to move in? Was that why he'd hesitated, or was that why he'd said yes? Or was it just that he'd picked up that Buck had been thinking about it? Buck could feel his cock stiffen at the charge between them, and that was enough to jolt him awake. It wasn't going to happen. It shouldn't have before.

Clearing his throat abruptly, Buck reached for the bathroom door to close Don outside. "We should go?" Buck said, hating how much of a question he made that. "Don't want to be late for our own party."

" _Your_ own party," Don muttered as the door shut.

Bracing his hands on the sink, Buck stared at the bathroom mirror, noting how flushed his cheeks were and the way he'd bitten his lips so hard he looked like he was wearing paint. He could tell why Don had thought Buck wanted him: lust was written all over his body. Buck scowled and straightened, staring himself in the eye until his expression hardened and the weakness left his face. Just because he'd messed up when they were in England, just because he hadn't been able to hack it on the line in the Bois Jacques, didn't mean he was that kind of man. He'd promised himself that when he got home, he'd be a better man. He'd married, gone back to school, picked up all the pieces just like the war had never happened.

"Pull yourself together," he muttered at his reflection. It was these kinds of lapses in attention that would get a kid a well-earned slap from Coach, even back in high school, a reminder that locker room horseplay could only go so far.

By the time Buck had shaved and fixed his hair, they were running late anyway.

"You just want to make an entrance," Don said, but he didn't have the spark in his eyes any more. He was careful to wait for Buck to get well clear of the bathroom before going in to check his hair one last time, rather than just brushing past him like he had before.

The message had gotten across just fine, and Buck should have felt relieved, but instead his stomach churned with acid, and he couldn't seem to look Don in the eye.

* * *

UCLA really had rented out the crystal ballroom at the Biltmore, complete with valet parking, even if the kid taking cars didn't look too impressed by Buck's beat up '41 Ford.

"Feel like I'm in the pictures," Don said, whistling through his teeth when he had a chance to look over the towering art deco facade of the hotel.

"The pictures aren't all that," Buck grumbled. He almost held an arm out to escort Don in, but they weren't playing that game any more, so he jammed his hands in his pockets and tried not to look like a damn tourist.

"Ain't seen anything like this since Austria," Don continued, still lollygagging. Buck wasn't willing to just go in without him, so the two of them stood like a reef in the flow of people. Half the campus had to be shouldering past them on the sidewalk, girls in their best dresses and fellows in the least worn-out suits they owned, like a train station right before the division shipped out. "We're not that late," Don added, looking over the crowd.

"LA time," Buck said with a shrug. He could feel the back of his neck itching and wanted to get out of the open, but Don still wasn't moving. Buck clapped his hand between Don's shoulders, and added a, "Come on!" for good measure.

That got him going as far as the foyer, where he needed another moment to stop and gawk, but the sound of a swing band from the ballroom got him moving again before Buck could give him another shove. The ballroom was an art deco dreamscape of crystal and gilt, already packed, with smoke swirling around the chandeliers.

"Buck!" about five people shouted at once, and before Buck could say anything, he had a press around him slamming him on the back and wanting to relive every yard he'd run. Buck caught a glimpse of Don laughing at him before he got carried off in a flood of congratulatory strangers, and was able to give a half wave back.

By the time Buck got clear, Don had proved that he didn't need his fraternity to set him up with a girl. Buck picked him out of the press on the dance floor, lindy hopping with some blonde Buck had never seen before. He clenched his jaw, wondering who she was, and why she was dancing with Don, then looked away. They'd said they'd find girls when they got here. No one in their right mind would blame Don for doing exactly that.

Of course, that just raised the question, again, of Buck being in his right mind.

If this really were like the pictures, monkey-suited waiters would be carrying drinks on silver trays. As it was, there was a bar that scrupulously checked ID and wouldn't hand out beers to anyone who looked like they'd had a few too many. Every other fellow had a silver flask weighing down his inside jacket pocket, whether they were twenty-one or not, waiting to spike the glasses of punch. Every other guy except Buck and Don, it seemed. Buck ordered a beer and leaned against the bar watching the dancers.

He'd barely taken two sips before a little red-headed number in a blue dress was hanging on his arm. He knew the script for this. She'd bat her eyelashes until he asked her to dance, and if he didn't, she'd sigh up a storm, and go cry on the shoulders of her sorority sisters. Buck didn't have the stomach for that kind of fuss, not that night. He looked out again at the dance floor, where Don was awkward and laughing with the blonde. They were holding hands not close dancing, and he looked just about like he was going to step on her foot at any second. Buck sighed and shook his head. It couldn't be helped.

"You want to go with Linda?" The girl asked, following his gaze.

Buck considered saying yes, just to see what she'd do, but ended up opting for the truth. "Twinkle Toes there is my roommate. Just making sure I don't have to go out there and save him."

The girl, Not-Linda, rolled her eyes. "You can do that just as well from out there," she pointed out. "You'd be closer even."

"True enough." Buck swallowed the rest of his beer and held out his hands. He didn't even have to ask, she just took his arm and led him into the press. Her hands were small, almost delicate and very soft. Buck's wife's had been like that. She'd been such a fireball of a little thing. He'd never thought he could care as much for another human being, until he'd joined the army. Now he had this girl in his arms, and the song changed to something smokey and slow.

Buck glanced over Don, but he was too far into the crowd to make out, and his partner was saying something in a tone that expected an answer, something about the homecoming queen.

"Is she in your house?" Buck asked, which got him another eye roll. That had obviously not been very close to the mark. Oh well. She wasn't dancing with him for his conversation. "I'm Buck Compton, by the way," he said.

"I'm aware," she said dryly. "I'm Mary Ferguson."

If Buck had been Don, and had been interested in being charming, he would have hummed the refrain of that Bing Crosby hit about how Mary was the sweetest sounding name. As it was, he widened his smile and resisted checking his watch. He didn't know what was wrong with him. Mary was a perfectly fine girl. She was obviously interested in him; maybe only for his position on the team, but that wasn't slowing down most of the other guys that much. If a girl was easy for the uniform, then what was wrong with that? They were both, probably, over twenty-one; they both could have a good time out of this. Buck should be looking for someone to help him forget. Someone fulfilling these exact parameters.

As the song went into the refrain, Buck pulled Mary a little closer, and she obligingly pressed her cheek to his chest, her ear over his heart. Buck let his hand slide over to spread wide on the small of his back. The band was cool and smooth, and the song familiar, though Buck had never had a head for remembering titles or lyrics like Don had. It'd been on the radio for a few years, anyway, and Buck's body knew it even without a name. It was easy to let the music lead him, and to let Mary follow him, and for the whole night to follow an inevitable path. He'd done this enough times when he was a teenager, before he and his ex were going steady enough for that to slow him down.

"Whatcha thinking about?" Mary asked, tipping her face up. She had brown eyes, startling against her ruddy hair and fair skin. There were freckles somewhere under all that powder, Buck thought.

Buck had enough native sense not to say that he'd been thinking about his wife, so he just said, "Trying to remember the last time I had such a pretty girl to dance with."

She laughed. "Oh, that was almost charming. You keep working on that script."

"I will," Buck promised. He drummed his fingers along her spine in time with the music and then spun her away from him. She was a slightly better dancer than Buck, certainly a better dancer than Don. Buck caught her as she spun back so that her back pressed against his chest, and looked around. Don appeared to have finally stepped on Linda's foot and was leading her off the floor, his cheeks shining with embarrassment. She was limping.

"Oh dear," Mary murmured, but to cover a laugh.

Buck almost dropped his hold on her waist in order to console Don, but stopped himself and turned Mary so they were facing each other again. The song ended, and Buck started to pull away.

"No, stay," Mary said, tightening her grip. "They'll play another foxtrot, and I want to dance. Linda knows how to make the best of this, trust me."

Linda was at the bar, her hand on Don's chest, batting her eyelashes like she was trying to take flight. Don looked down at her, a drink in each hand, a slightly awed expression lighting his face. Or, that could have been the whiskey.

"Seems like," Buck agreed. If he went to talk to Don, he'd only sideline whatever was going on there, and Don deserved better than that. He made himself turn away. He was tired from the week, and a hard-fought game, and if he danced all night, he knew he'd sleep like the dead. Hell, Don could probably take Linda home, and Buck wouldn't notice a thing. He wondered what she'd think if Don woke up screaming. He didn't have to wonder what Don would look like making love.

Buck let Mary pull him back onto the floor. He should probably give a few other girls a whirl, but he liked how brassy she was. He'd liked that about his ex, too, how she didn't mince words or play games about what she wanted. That had been another thing about the army, for all that every soldier griped about their CO: life was simpler when someone told you what to do and how to feel every minute of every day. If only Buck had been good at slotting himself into expected roles and keeping up appearances.

"Don looks a bit lost," he said as the band struck up. It was a faster beat this time, and Buck had to remember how to hop properly.

"Oh, don't worry, she knows how to get a lost sailor to shore." Mary's eyes crinkled with the fondness of a sister, and Buck looked at her more carefully. Her light skin had pinkened from dancing, and stands of her hair clung to the perspiration on her temples. Her gaze held Buck's fearlessly, staying fixed on his face even as he studied her. Her smile broadened, seeming to ask if he liked what he saw.

Buck felt his throat go dry, and had to clear it before he said, "Too bad Don was in the Airborne, not the Navy."

"Oh?" That did make Mary give the couple at the bar a second look. Her eyes raked first over Don's wiry body and strong shoulders, then over Buck's as if making a comparison. "And you too?"

"Sure," Buck said, "same platoon, even. He saw more action than I did." That'd proved the easiest way to put it.

"And now you're back home, tearing up the town." Her tone was ironic enough to catch Buck's attention.

He turned them so that he could see the bar, and found that Don and Linda weren't there any more. She had, presumably, gone to find a quiet corner in order to show him the way to her shores. Buck's hands tightened on Mary's, and for a moment he lost the beat of the song. He felt like he should make some excuse for Don, even though Linda had clearly been interested, if not instigating the whole thing. He thought about Don pushing her up against the wall of a bathroom stall, her skirts up, her hands in his hair. Buck should be happy for Don that he'd found such a friendly young lady, but he couldn't even put a smile on his face, let alone calm the churning in his gut.

"How 'bout you?" he asked, trying to force the conversation away from Don and Linda.

He was glad she didn't ask what about her, because he didn't have any idea. She waited until he'd finished sending her on an outside spin before answering, "Oh, I was a Wave for a hot minute, but I'm out now, Reserves. Unless you meant how do I like my sailors. The answer to that is that I prefer it when they work a little."

Buck understood, and for a moment felt bad that he wasn't playing that game. Even if he wasn't tying himself in knots about Don, it wasn't fair to inflict himself on anyone so soon after his wife. Given what'd been in that note, maybe it wasn't fair to inflict himself on anyone ever again, but Buck had to keep up appearances. He didn't know if he'd have come out, if it weren't for the team, if he hadn't convinced himself that Don'd wanted to go. "Guess I'm not the hard-working type," he said, trying to warn her off. It was early yet. She'd have time if she wanted to set her cap in a more profitable direction.

Mary shrugged like she didn't care, but she went and found another dance partner when the song ended. Buck went back to the bar for another beer and went to find a quiet corner to nurse it and his pride. Of course she'd left. He'd told her to leave if she didn't want to be in for a world of trouble, any sensible woman would have done the same. So why did Buck feel a well of disappointment that she hadn't stuck with him no matter what? Was he not worth working for a little too?

Letting his head fall back against the wall, Buck put his beer glass to his temple and concentrated on getting his head screwed on right. Another half hour, and everyone could count that he'd shown his face, and he could go home and tuck into bed early, catch some damn sleep for a change. Problem was, he was also Don's ride, and he should probably wait until he was done with whatever he was doing with Linda, unless Don wanted to go home with her, in which case Buck hoped he'd tell him soon.

His wife had been right in that note, Buck really wasn't much fun any more. Hardly the man he'd been when they'd dated in highschool and his freshman year at UCLA.

Hardly a man at all.

He took a breath, and made himself swallow the rest of the beer before he flung the glass at something. He could maybe get one more, but finding someone with a flask would be quicker if that was the way he wanted to go. He'd always promised himself that it wouldn't be, after his dad. He'd promised himself a lot of things, but he figured he could keep one at least. He went back to the bar with the glass, and didn't ask for another.

Needing to see what passed for the night sky in LA, he went out to the street and tipped his head back. If he squinted he could almost make out half a dozen stars through the light pollution and haze. That was California for you: only the brightest survived. He hoped Don would do better down here than Buck ever had.

"Hey."

Buck spun around, turning to look Don full in the face when a glance back would have done the job. "Hey," he said stupidly.

Don's tie was undone and he had lipstick on his jaw and the collar of his shirt. What had she done? Undone his buttons with her teeth? "Guess you want to go, huh?"

Buck shook his head. "Just getting some air. Don't let me rush you."

"Yeah." Don jammed his hands in his pockets in unconscious imitation of Buck, shoulders hunched up to his ears. He was twisting the ball of one shoe on the ground like he was trying to grind out a cigarette. "I don't really see much use in staying," he muttered.

"You don't want to listen to the band some more?" Buck goaded, unsure where his sudden burst of cruelty had come from, but not trying to rein it in, either. "Or what about that girl? Linda? You don't want to 'dance' some more?"

Don shot Buck a silent, miserable look, face all pathetic and hang dog, and instead of feeling guilty for needling Don, Buck felt a burst of anger at him for being so pathetic, for letting a chump like Buck get to him. He was a goddamned paratrooper. He'd survived the Nazis and Sobel and the worst winter and Europe's memory, and he was letting _Buck_ treat him like shit?

"Or did you disappoint the lady?" Buck asked.

"Fuck you," Don grumbled, but his heart wasn't in it. "I just want to go home, all right? It's too... there's too many people in there, Buck. I can't breathe. If you're too drunk to drive us, lemme know, and I'll start walking."

He would, too. Buck had seen him march for days, and a three-hour walk to Buck's apartment wasn't going to slow him down. His woebegone expression had a harder edge to it now, and Buck could tell he wasn't kidding.

It was, of course, Buck who backed down. His perverse desire to push Don around wilted in the face of the idea of him stolidly trudging through the night, especially when Buck considered the number of bars he'd find along the way.

"Yeah, I can drive," he said, and went to give his ticket to the parking boy. He was only gone for a moment, but when he got back Don had a pensive expression, and was looking at Buck with an eye that felt too knowing. Buck looked away, pretending to stare down the one-way street for a car he knew would be a few minutes coming.

Don came down to stand next to him anyway. "So, I guess that girl you were dancing with brushed you off, huh?"

Buck snorted. Was that what Don thought he was cut up over? "No, I blew her off."

"Oh?" Don was trying to sound sympathetic, but mostly he came off as nosy.

"I think she wanted me to pin her, and I didn't want to start all that up again."

"Oh."

Thankfully, the car showed up before Don could think of anything sympathetic to say. After they pulled out onto the main road, Buck glanced sideways at Don. The lipstick mark on his collar looked like blood against the white of his shirt. "Looks like yours wanted you to pin her too."

Don looked away, hands tightening on his knees. "Yeah," he muttered, sounding so dejected that Buck wondered if Don was having performance issues. As if he could hear the thought, Don shot Buck a glare. "I wasn't like that. I don't know. It was all right. She was a nice girl."

"A real wowwer of review," Buck commented.

Instead of the comeback Buck expected, Don looked away again, clearly ashamed.

Buck didn't see what the problem was. The girl had been willing; Don had gotten his rocks off; it should have been a happy night. He kept glancing at Don, but now he kept his eyes fixed on the passing streetlights, and wouldn't say another word.

When they got into the apartment, Buck assumed Don would either sulk off to bed or go out again to find a drink. He still wasn't keeping liquor in the house, seemingly warned off by Buck's obvious disapproval. Buck left him standing by the door and started to peel out of his suit. He considered another shower, but it seemed like too much effort for the little sweat dancing had raised. Besides, he assumed Don probably wanted it, after his little adventure with Linda.

When Buck came back out in shorts and undershirt, Don was still standing next to the door like someone had glued his shoes to the floor. His arms were folded tight across his chest, and he was staring down at the doormat.

Buck felt his jaw clench, and bit back the first two things he thought to say, which just left him with silence. His wife always had said he never had as much as three thoughts in his head at any one time.

Don looked up at Buck sharply and sniffled. Was he crying? Buck couldn't tell in the poor light. He stepped forward, instinct moving his body before he could stop himself. He wrapped his arms around Don's shoulders and pulled him to his chest. "Hey," he murmured. "Hey, Donny. I'm sorry." He hoped the generalised apology would cover for the whole night. The whole week since Don had gotten here.

At first, Don stood like he had in that first embrace on campus, arms folded protectively between them, but then he took a shaking breath and unfolded, clutching at the sides of Buck's shirt as he buried his face against Buck's shoulder. His eyes were hot with tears, and he sniffled again.

Buck hated how much he liked having Don in his arms. This was the third time now since they'd gotten back, and each time the feel of his face against Buck's chest warmed him right through like a shot of whiskey on a cold night. He rocked Don like he had that first night and stroked the back of his head and massaged his neck.

This time, Don didn't pull himself together, and didn't pull away. Instead, he spoke with his face still mashed against Buck's shoulder. "You must think I'm a real sissy, huh?"

"No," Buck insisted. "No, of course not. You're the bravest man, the best soldier, I know, Don. You know that." He had to know that. Buck was sure he'd told Don, and more than once.

"Not a soldier any more," Don mumbled, then sniffed. "I ain't been doing so good since I got back, you know?"

Buck shook his head in denial and held Don tighter. He felt his own throat tightening, and he still didn't know what to say. Finally he cleared his throat and asked, "What the hell happened with that girl?"

"Nothing. I mean nothing bad. I told you it wasn't like that. I just... God, Buck. I haven't been with anyone since... uh, well, since I got back, I guess, and I thought. I don't know."

"It's okay," Buck said. "You don't have to say anything." He didn't know how much longer he could just stand here like this with Don so warm and pliant in his arms, before his dick caught up with what was going on and ruined it.

Don wasn't letting go, though, and he was going to say it. "I guess I thought I'd feel better, if I did it with her, like the old Don Malarkey, the one who knew how to be happy. And it was good when we were together, but when we were done, she kissed me and told me it'd been swell, and went back to the dance, and I just felt... I don't know. But I don't even know what I wanted her to do. That's all we'd gone down there for. I knew that when we started. But I just... I... I hate how I feel. I hate it!" Then he started to cry against Buck's shirt, deep, racking sobs that shook both their bodies.

Buck had known a week ago that he'd have no idea what to do with Don if he wept, and he still didn't. A wave of helplessness swept over him, washing away the trace of smug satisfaction that Don hadn't liked the girl, and all of his earlier irritation. Christ, he wished there was something he could do to fix things for Don. Even if Buck had made a shambles of everything that didn't involve sports, Don deserved better. He deserved every great thing and small happiness the world could give him. He'd poured out everything for his country and his friends during the war, and no one had stood by him. Buck certainly hadn't then, and hadn't the least clue how to now. It seemed like all he could do was hold on.

He tried to think of something to say, even trying to think what Major Winters might say—he'd always been better as a soft touch with the broken boys. All Buck had ever figured out to do when someone was dying in his arms was hold on and lie to him about how he was going to be all right. He thought of begging Hoobler to hang on, telling him he was tough enough to survive. None of that was going to cut it here with Don, so Buck stood tongue tied and weighed down with regret, holding on as best he could.

Eventually, Don sniffed again and seemed to get a hold of himself. "Jesus Christ, I'm sorry," he muttered, and let go of Buck's shirt to pat through his pockets for a handkerchief. He stepped back and blew his nose then wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket. "Ma always said she felt better after a good cry, but I feel like shit. Would you believe it? I'm mostly sober right now. Christ."

"It doesn't matter," Buck told him. He reached out and put his hand on Don's neck, squeezing lightly. "It'll look better in the morning, you'll see. It's Sunday. We'll go to the beach, catch a picture, whatever you want, all right?"

Don gave him a look that said he wasn't a child and didn't appreciate being treated like one, but shrugged and started to trudge towards his cot.

Buck watched him go, chewing his lip. There had to be something else he could say that would convince Don that he just had to keep hanging on, and if he did things would work out. They had to. All he could think of was his own mantra that you had to just keep your body moving, and eventually your heart would catch up, but he didn't think that Don would find that helpful. He seemed to have that part down already, maybe too well. He thought of Winters' ridiculous "Hang Tough," and almost said that instead, but couldn't.

"Useless," Buck muttered and turned to go to bed, even though he knew that he wouldn't sleep after all that. He got another shrug when he wished Don goodnight.

True to prediction, Buck lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, wide awake. He tried revising his economics homework in his head, then running through the steps in a parade, but no matter what he tried to think of, his mind kept going back to Don saying that Buck must think he was a sissy. From there, it was a short jump to Don pinned to the doorjamb wriggling under Buck's hands, and a short hop and an ocean away lay Aldbourne, the night before they'd shipped out for Market Garden.

They'd both been about a sheet and a half to the wind—lubricated enough to have their guard down, but not so drunk that either of them could say the next day they hadn't known what they were doing. It'd started out as walking arm in arm from the pub towards Buck's billet, but somewhere in the middle they'd ended up with their arms around each other's waists. Don'd been singing "Moonlight Cocktail," his pitch perfect as always, his memory of the lyrics all over the place.

"How many kisses is it supposed to be?" he'd asked as he'd stumbled over the "recipe" for the third time.

"'It's up to you,'" Buck'd reminded him, only knowing that because Don sang this so often.

"Oh, yeah. That's right. Rhymes off 'Need a few.'" He grinned up at Buck like Tin Pan Alley nonsense set to Glenn Miller was the most brilliant thing he'd ever heard, and Buck'd laughed.

They'd been outside Buck's door by then, and it'd felt so absurdly like walking a girl home, that Buck hadn't even been surprised when Don leaned up and kissed him right on the mouth.

"Always wanted to do that," Don had said.

Buck had no memory of how they'd gotten up into his attic room. He did remember Don stripping him down with surprising efficiency given how smashed he was. He remembered Don on his knees in front of him, and biting his own hand to keep from waking the house. He remembered how it'd felt to let Don fuck the space between his thighs, how it should have felt bad, but didn't.

That hadn't been enough for either of them. They'd slept and woke and come together again and again until Don'd slunk out a little before dawn.

They'd never spoken of it. Buck had been wounded in Holland not long after, and had only just gotten back from the hospital in time for the Ardennes. Instead, Buck had spent the two years since trying to forget that night.

Now, he lay on his back—his dick hard from the memory, Don sleeping not ten yards away—and tried to forget it all over again. Problem was, it was impossible to unknow what it was like to make love to someone.

Closing his eyes, Buck let his hand drift down to his shorts and rubbed his cock through the fabric. He could do this if he didn't think about Don. It'd just be his usual jerking off to the vague images of an anonymous body touching his. He usually didn't have to think of anything, just apply the right pressure. He reached into his shorts, and hissed as his hand closed around his dick. He was hard enough that this wouldn't take long. Maybe after that, he'd be able to sleep.

He'd already sabotaged his good intentions by thinking of that night, or maybe he just hadn't had any. As soon as Buck stroked up his cock, he thought of Don's hand on him, and once the image was there, he couldn't let it go. He pulled his hand up to spit on it, and remembered the heat of Don's mouth, how eager he'd been, like all he'd ever wanted to do was suck Buck's dick.

Buck moaned softly and threw his arm over his face to muffle the sound in the crook of his elbow. His hips jerked up against his hand, and he squeezed tighter, remembering the scrape of Don's teeth, and how the edge of pain had pushed Buck over the edge, that first time. Later that night, Don guided Buck through screwing him, laughing at Buck's awkwardness. He'd been so damn happy, and when Buck had come inside him, Don had made this sound that had stayed with Buck ever since. It had been a little groan of relief, not quite a whimper, more like the sound a man made when he took off a ruck he'd been lugging around all day. Buck had thought then that there wasn't much he wouldn't have done if Don would just groan like that because of him.

He pictured it now, Don on top of him, his face screwed up in pleasure, moaning just exactly like that. A few sharp pulls of his dick, and Buck came with a tight hiss of breath against his arm.

Rolling over to the side table, Buck wiped himself off with a tissue and curled up on his side, wrapping his arms around the second pillow no one used.

Even as the pleasant buzz of the orgasm trembled through him, he felt guilt roiling in his gut. He ought not to have thought of Don, not ever, but especially not with the man sleeping in the same apartment. He should have kept on forgetting that night had ever happened, kept on trying to be better than that.

He'd always wondered if Don had also been able to draw a through line from that night to Buck's failure to suck it up and stay on the line before Foy. How could Don look at him and not know which one of them was the sissy? How could anyone not look at him and know?

Buck was still awake an hour later when Don woke up screaming again, but this time he came to himself quickly enough that he was sitting up by the time Buck got out there.

"I'm fine!" he snapped, and even in the darkness Buck could feel the heat of his glare. "I'm fine. Leave me alone."

"All right, all right," Buck said, retreating and feeling stupid. "Lemme know if you need anything, huh?"

Don didn't answer, and Buck went back to bed, drifting off not long before dawn.

In the morning, Don was up first, making breakfast for both of them. His eyes were still red from crying and lack of sleep and his shoulders had a slump to them that Buck wanted to, but knew he could not, caress away. They did each other the courtesy of not mentioning any events of the night before, except that Don said he'd like to take Buck up on the trip to the beach.

"Day at the Beach!" Buck muttered, clutching his coffee. "Can't believe I said that. More sand."

Don laughed and nudged his shoulder before setting down across from him. "Better to get out before they ask you to clean up the campus."

"Good point." Whoever was shovelling up the mess left by Homecoming Week, it wasn't going to be Buck. "Let's go down to the pier, huh?"

"Sure, okay," Don said, but when they were about two thirds of the way down to Santa Monica, he started drumming his fingers on the dash and looking out at the traffic.

It was another perfect California fall day, cool but not chilly. Buck had the window down and an arm draped along it while he steered one-handed. The only thing that would have made the day better was if he'd been able to afford a car with a radio, or if Don were inclined to sing, which seemed to be decreasing in likelihood as the traffic thickened.

Don was leaning down, trying to get a look at the beach ahead of them, but they were down on the flats now, and even the sparkling blue of the Pacific had fallen out of sight. "I guess it's going to be pretty packed," Don muttered.

"Probably," Buck admitted, shooting Don a look. If the dance had been too crowded, Don wasn't going to like the Santa Monica boardwalks on a sunny weekend. He hadn't had problems with the football game, but maybe it came and went, like the dreams.

"Is there somewhere we can just go?" Don asked. "By ourselves I mean. Somewhere quiet."

Buck wasn't sure that spending time alone with Don was a good idea just then. In fact, he was pretty sure it was an absolutely rotten one, especially outdoors in the sun, if they'd both been exerting themselves. Or, he supposed, it could be a good test if Buck was going to be able to brace up and keep his hands to himself.

"We could go hiking in the hills," he said after thinking for a moment. He remembered a flyer about the outdoors club doing something in that line. "There's some new state park."

It took them a good ten minutes to get unsnarled from the traffic rushing for the beach, but after that Buck wound the Ford back up into the hills. Don visibly settled down, looking with interest at the flashes of view as they climbed.

"Thanks," he said as they pulled into the parking area. "I know you wanted to go to the beach. I just... I guess I need to clear my head a little."

Buck hadn't wanted to go to the beach, he just hadn't wanted to let Don out of his sight, but he couldn't think of a normal-sounding way to say any of that, so he just said, "I wanted to come up here, anyway."

A few minutes later, they'd found the start of a trail and were clambering up through willow scrub and cacti towards a promised viewpoint. Even by mid morning the heat blazed on Buck’s bare head. Buck paused to drink from his canteen, letting Don go ahead. He told himself it was to let him set the pace, not so that he could stare at Don's ass.

"I miss Astoria," Don complained, mopping at his face with his sleeve.

"From the way you wouldn't shut up about it when we were in England, I'm surprised you ever left again," Buck said. He was pretty sure most of second platoon could have described the sun on the Nehalem River and the taste of blackberries in August by the time they left England the first time.

"Yeah, well." Don didn't say anything else.

"Think you'll go back to Oregon after you graduate?" Buck prodded.

"Maybe. I don't know." He sighed. "I don't know what I'm going to do."

"Yeah, me neither," Buck admitted. In seven months, he'd have a degree in physical education, and no idea what to do with it. He couldn't picture himself teaching school, and none of the leagues were going to offer again, not at his age. "Would you believe I got into law school?"

Don's laugh indicated he didn't believe it a bit.

"I did," Buck protested. "I got into this college downtown, took me three tries, but I did it."

"So why aren't you there?" Don asked.

Buck shook his head. "I decided I should stick with UCLA."

"Stick with your team, you mean," Don said.

"Yeah." Coach had been so sure they'd make the Rose Bowl again this year, and Buck had wanted that feeling back more than anything else, more than his shot at law school. "The missus wasn't too impressed."

"That why she took off?" Don asked.

"It was on the list." There'd been a few things on that list, and Buck wasn't sure if football had tipped it one way or another, in the end.

"Was..." Don stopped and turned suddenly, and Buck had to raise his hand to shade the sun out of his eyes, but even then he couldn't make out Don's expression. "Was I on the list? I mean, did you tell her about us?"

"Of course not," Buck snapped, before he could think. He could tell from the way Don's shoulders hunched up that his voice had been too harsh. "I didn't tell her anything about the war," he added, trying to change course, change the subject, do anything but talk about this "us" Don had in mind all of a sudden. Was this why Don had dragged him out here? To ambush him about that night? It seemed like it was.

"Do you ever think of it?" Don persisted.

Buck shook his head slightly. He wasn't used to having to look up at anyone, wasn't used to being this off balance. What did Don want him to say? "Not really."

"Oh," Don slumped a little, then he stepped down the path so he and Buck were on a level, and it was Don tipping his head back to look Buck in the eye. The trail was narrow enough that they had to stand chest to chest or one of them would end up in the bushes. "I think about it," Don said. "All the time." When Buck didn't react, when he forced his face not to show a damn thing, Don added more softly. "I said I hadn't been with anyone since I'd been back stateside, but what I meant was 'since you.'"

Buck's mouth went dry, and he couldn't think. He stared into Don's open, earnest face, and knew in that moment that Don was in love with him, probably had been since before Holland, and that no amount of pretending was going to make that go away. Buck knew too well what Don looked like when he wasn't about to let something go. This was the man who'd crawled into fire to get a pistol for his kid brother. Nothing Buck could say was going to frighten him. Which was good, because Buck had no idea what to say.

"I looked for you when I was in Paris, but you'd already transferred," Don said. "I thought about writing you after we got back, but I was so torn up, could hardly think. It wasn't like I moved down here just to see you. I needed to get away, but I thought of you being here, at least in the same city if you'd graduated, and how you'd talked about UCLA, and I thought maybe it'd be a bit like... Christ, I don't know. I just wanted some of that back."

He didn't say that he'd wanted Buck back, but it rang between them just the same.

"I'm not like you," Buck said, but he'd never been able to lie to Don, not like he could to himself. "I don't want to be like that."

Don smiled, lips thin and twisted up. "How's that working for you?"

Buck covered his face with his hands, not sure if it was laughter or a sob building in his chest. "It's been a shit time."

"Yeah." The sympathy in Don's voice felt like a punch to the chest. "For me too."

"I can't do this." Buck was shaking his head even before the words were out. "I can't, Donny. It's..."

"Too hard?" Don demanded.

Buck shook his head. "It's not possible."

"Funny, you didn't used to think anything was impossible. 'We're paratroopers,' you'd say, and then just go and do it."

It wasn't fair of Don to throw that in Buck's face, to rub his nose in the man he'd thought he'd been then, and had proven he wasn't. Buck turned away, wanting to run, but his eyes were stinging, and it would just about suit his luck if he ran smack into a tree. "That was before Bastogne," he said, voice rough. "You know that. You saw. The whole fucking battalion saw."

He couldn't look at Don, so he squinted up towards the sun. He didn't understand what the point of all this was. Don had as much as said he loved Buck, but he of all people had to know why none of this could never work, even if Buck wanted it to.

"That, never—" Don broke off, circled up the path again to get in front of Buck. He got between Buck and the sun, shading his face, and grabbed his arm. "Buck, I never gave a shit about that. None of us did. What'd I tell you back then? We all thought you were a hell of an officer. We all wished you the best. I still wish you the best." He sighed and rubbed his mouth. He hadn't shaved, and his stubble was coming in patchy like it always did, gleaming copper in the sun as he glanced away. Buck would never be able to forget what Don's unshaven cheek had felt like rubbing against the inside of his thigh. "Guess I'm pretty selfish, too, huh?"

"No," Buck insisted, automatically dismissing the idea that there could be anything wrong with Don. "But it's no good. I'm sorry, Don. I... I just _can't._ "

Funny how Buck almost wished he could be a queer, just for Don's sake, to give him something he wanted. Now that was a strange kind of cowardice: to not be brave enough to turn pansy for someone he loved.

"Yeah," Don muttered, suddenly sounding like he had the night before, like the whole world was pressing down on him and he couldn't see a way out of it. "Yeah, you're right. I shouldn't have asked. Stupid. I knew. That's why I didn't say yes right off, to moving in, I mean. Knew that you didn't want me, not like that. But then last night, I thought. Anyway. I'm sorry."

He turned and started walking back up the hill, like they were going to pretend the whole thing had never happened. Buck couldn't do anything but follow him.

If Buck had the sense God gave a gnat, he'd have found some way to change the subject, but now it'd burred into his thoughts and he couldn't shake the topic. "But you like girls," he said.

Don snorted. "Now you sound like that nutcracker at the induction centre. Yeah, girls are all right. Get the job done. I mostly went with other fellows before the war, but you had to have a girl sometimes, you know?"

"Sure," Buck said, but he didn't know.

"But with your wife: you loved her?" Don asked. "It wasn't just..."

"I was crazy about her," Buck said, almost surprising himself with how easily the past tense came that time. He'd wondered, after Don, if maybe it was a little too crazy, maybe it was making up for something, but he didn't think that was true. He wouldn't have married her if it were. "Turned out I wasn't very good at showing it." That, too, had been on the list. He was starting to hate how he had every damn word of that note memorised.

Don didn't say the usual things about how it was her loss, or even that she didn't know how to look. Instead he dropped back into silence.

The incline steepened, and Don started to puff with exertion, excusing him from talking. Buck couldn't help smiling a little to himself. One of them was paying for doing all of the boozing and none of the early-morning PT. A year ago, Don'd been in peak shape like the rest of them, but if he didn't watch out, he was going to start filling out. Buck pictured that: Don with a double chin and a little beer belly, his hair thinning, maybe starting to fade to grey at the temples. The wrinkles that he got when he furrowed his brow in concern would set in place, as would the tracery of laugh lines around his eyes.

It wasn't hard to picture a Don Malarkey living twenty years in the future. Would he be married? Maybe he'd have found some girl willing to cover for what he really wanted, or maybe he'd be the kind of bachelor that everyone whispered about. Would he and Buck still keep in touch? They'd never managed to write when they'd been apart before, but maybe after this?

Buck shook his head. He couldn't see it. They were too different. Eventually, Don would work out that whatever he wanted, Buck wouldn't be able to give it to him, and he'd move on. Maybe he'd find an amenable Marine, like Buck's wife had, or move back to Oregon. Whatever he did after they graduated, Buck didn't think he'd look back.

The thought of being left behind like that made Buck's eyes prickle so badly he had to stop and wipe at them under cover of taking another drink of water. It felt like when you were making a hole in the other team's line so the back could get through, and you knew it was for the best, but when you looked up at the other guy coming down on you, for a split second all you could think was, "Christ, this's gonna hurt."

Buck looked up at Don, at the way his pants clung to his ass as he climbed, and how sweat was sticking his shirt to the lines of his back. His hair was dark with perspiration, and his neck flushed bright pink, and Buck thought he'd never seen someone he'd wanted to touch as much as he wanted to put his hands all over every part of Don in that moment. He didn't think he'd want to touch Don any less twenty years on, when they'd both put on a few pounds and more than a few wrinkles.

He wished he knew which was stupider: turning Don down flat, or that he was already regretting turning Don down flat. Not half an hour ago, he'd been worried that he wouldn't be able to keep his hands to himself. At least he'd proved he could, even when Don as much as asked him not to.

When they got to the view point, Don flopped onto the single bench and let his head fall back exposing his throat. "Christ, need to get out more," he moaned. He fumbled the lid on his canteen, and gratefully took Buck's when offered, splashing a little water on his face before taking a long drink. Buck watched his throat bob and a bead of water trickling down the line of his jaw, down his neck towards his collar.

If this were like the pictures, Don would gesture across the Pacific spread out in front of him and say something like, "Quite the view," and without turning to see, Buck would agree that it was.

If it was a movie, they'd kiss then, but of course they didn't let queers kiss in the movies, not any more.

Buck turned so that his back caught the full blast of the sun, and looked out at the sea spread below them. He'd read somewhere that the Pacific Ocean took up half the planet, and if a man headed west from California he'd go six thousand miles before he got to any other land. The thought had always made Buck dizzy, like standing on the edge of the ocean was standing at the edge of one of those old timey maps that showed the sea rushing off the side of a flat disc.

"You ever think about just up stakes and leaving?" Buck asked. "A man could head out on the road, and no one would know who he was or what his problems were. He could live like that."

"Yeah, sometimes," Don admitted. Buck heard the bench creak as he leaned forward. "Sometimes I look at a bus and think, 'I could get on it and go, not even say goodbye.' I picture myself doing it, picture getting off wherever it's going, a whole new life. Hell, Buck, in a way, that's how I ended up here."

Buck hadn't thought about Don's flight from Oregon like that. "Did it work?"

Don huffed a breath that wasn't quite a laugh. "Nope. New college, new state, same old problems. Works out I'm the same man no matter if anyone knows me or not."

That sounded about right to Buck. When you got down to it, there wasn't much point leaving anyway. What did he have left here? He didn't have much in the way of friends, his teammates, sure, and his mom, but he'd for all his gregariousness, he'd never been a man who'd been prone to bosom buddies. Not until he'd joined Easy Company.

How many of those men were left of the group he'd joined in England in '44? Buck didn't know. He suspected if he asked Don, he could name every casualty and fatality in the company, before and after Buck had left.

How many of them, even if they were alive, were still in good enough shape to scramble up a hill?

As if he could read Buck's thoughts, Don said, "I miss Skip."

Buck swallowed, keeping his eyes fixed on the horizon. "Yeah, I know you do."

"I promised him I'd go see his girl, Faye, if I got back and he didn't, but I didn't have the guts to look her in the eye. I couldn't even write her." Don's voice was strained, almost too small to hear under all this wide open sky. Buck didn't know what to say to that, never seemed to be able to find the right words of comfort when Don needed them, so he stayed silent.

In the end, Don sighed and got up to stand next to Buck. They looked out over the stretch of the Pacific, and Buck couldn't picture leaving any more. He couldn't think of himself as anywhere but standing still with Don next to him, the threads of silent sympathy wrapping around them both. Eventually, Buck didn't have to blink his eyes clear any more.

A pang of grief at the thought that someday this had to end shot through Buck, stinging like a pulled muscle he'd momentarily forgotten about.

"Let's go find some lunch," he said, so suddenly that Don started, and turned to head back down the trail.

They went back inland to avoid the hoard of beach goers, but even in a quiet little dinner, Don was sombre and kept his thoughts to himself. Buck couldn't tell if it was his answer to Don's question, or the ghost of Skip Muck that was dampening his spirits. Either way, he was happy when they got out of there with only a few beers down, and that Don was talking about dinner in.

Buck's wife had said something about wishing she'd married a better cook, and Don wasn't great either, it turned out even when he had more to work with than an ammunition box, but they could usually scrap something together. It was nice to have someone to clatter around the kitchen with, nicer still not to have that bare apartment all to himself. He could feel a glow in the quiet company now: Don humming along with the radio as they both worked on papers, brushing past each other in the narrow hall. Buck remembered pinning Don to the wall the night before, and wondered what the hell he'd been thinking to break the equilibrium between them. He could nurse this along as it was for another year, as long as he could convince Don to stay. He knew that Don would find someone else, eventually, but they only needed to hold on for a little while. Just until Buck got over his heartbreak.

That night, when they both lay in their separate beds, Buck on a mattress meant for two people, Buck couldn't drag his thoughts away from how close Don was.

He could be in Buck's bed. They could be making love right this minute. They could end every day in a tumble of kisses and sweet pleasure in each other's arms. That's what Don seemed to want, and as Buck lay alone with his growing hard on, he knew that should Don come in and offer again, Buck wouldn't turn him down.

Don stayed where he was, and Buck refused to pull himself off this time, instead lying curled around his cock trying to think of anything besides his friend, until he finally fell asleep.

* * *

Buck cursed whatever impulse had led him to take a class that started at eight in the morning on a Monday, but he showed up for it five minutes early anyway, like he always did. From the thinness of the ranks, a lot of the fellows were still sleeping off Homecoming Week. Jim was there, at least, but looking like he didn't want to be.

"Guess you kept going, huh?" Buck asked, and Jim nodded queasily.

"Most of the team had a party after the party," Jim said. "Looked for you, but you'd already taken off."

Buck shrugged, rolled a pen across his knuckles, didn't look at Jim. "Old man like me needs his beauty sleep," he said.

"You can't be two years older than me," Jim protested, but they both knew it was two years that made all the difference in the world. Jim could never understand why Don had needed to get away from a crowd, or how Buck could lie in bed for eight hours and still feel so tired he could hardly drag himself into the shower. "So what'd you do Sunday?" Jim asked on Buck's silent stare.

"Uh, my roommate Don and I went hiking in the hills. Thought we'd look at that new park."

"Hiking with Don?" Jim asked. "I usually try to find someone a little prettier than that to take out into the woods."

Buck shoved down a ludicrous impulse to say Don was pretty enough for anyone. It would have worked as a joke back with Easy, where the guys knew him, but Jim might take it at face value. Jim might see the truth in it. "If only." Buck kept smiling, and on Jim's raised eyebrows, shrugged and added, "I like the exercise. Still showing Don around, anyway."

"How's he doing?"

"Fine, settling in. Did better than I did at the dance."

Jim laughed. "Yeah, I saw you strike out, still missing the missus, huh?"

"Nah, that redhead just knew a chump when she saw one," Buck said, waving the conversation off just as the professor came in.

There was so much Buck couldn't say, even to the man who was probably his closest buddy here, whose life was a mirror of Buck's: what he would have looked like if he hadn't signed up. Jim was the clean cut all American boy that Buck never could be, and not just because of Buck's failures in Belgium.

And if he'd said yes to Don, that wouldn't just be another step away from the image of who he wanted to be, but a leap into a completely different world. Hedging around the war wouldn't even be the beginning of the lies they'd have to tell then. Buck would be forever hiding, the police an enemy, never able to take the person he loved home to his mother, and then all of the risks if they were found out. Losing his job and jail wouldn't be the worst of it. Normal men beat fairies to death all the time, and no one cared. If Buck could choose any other life in the world, why would he choose to be with Don?

Other than that Don loved him, and Buck wasn't sure he didn't feel the same way.

Buck only noticed that he'd been jogging his foot in place when Jim nudged him in the ankle, and jerked his head towards the professor.

Buck made himself pay attention to the class.

* * *

That day and the next, Buck had classes, practice, work after practice, and didn't get in until late enough that he just made a sandwich and fell into bed. He was getting most of his studying done in the library between one thing or another. He kept seeing Don in passing, like he had the week before, and feeling the loss of him all the more now.

Wednesdays, Buck didn't have work or football, and he spent the day thinking that he'd maybe get something nice like pork chops, and they could have a quiet night in. He'd just drop his books off, and walk down to the market. Maybe Don could go too. Buck jogged up the stairs thinking about another evening of quiet companionship, only to find the apartment dark and empty.

Buck stopped and looked around, mind going back to when he'd come home to find his wife, her things and a good deal of the furniture missing. He circled the apartment, hunting for a note, but found nothing. Don's suitcase was open next to the cot, several ties spilling over the edge. His books sat on the kitchen table. Buck took a breath and made himself count off his pulse for a moment before letting it out. Don had gone out of the night, that was all. It was disappointing, sure, but it wasn't as though Buck had said anything about dinner to Don that morning, or even said when he'd be back. His abilities in regards to communication had also been mentioned in the note.

He could have gone shopping anyway, but he'd never seen much point in cooking something nice for just one person.

The truth was, Buck had never liked being alone. Men like Don, with their heads full of poetry and dreams, could be content with just themselves for company, but being by himself had always led to exactly the kind of introspection that Buck had spent a life busy with clubs and sports and girls trying to avoid.

He hadn't gotten much studying done by the time he usually went to bed, yet he told himself that he might as well keep at it for a bit more. The measure of a bit more was, of course, until Don got back, which he did drunk and sloppy around eleven.

Buck watched Don take three tries to put his hat on the peg by the door, and pressed his lips together to keep from asking where Don had been like a jilted wife. If nothing else, where Don had been was pretty obvious from his shuffling steps and reek of beer.

"Hey!" Don called, making the word three times as long as it needed to be. He swayed by the door then, squinted at Buck's text books. "You're up."

"Yes," Buck said. "Trying to get some work done."

"Ah." Don frowned, then cocked his head like he was trying to remember something he'd meant to say. "Well. I'll let you do that." He vanished into the bathroom, and Buck heard the sink running. He hoped Don was drinking some of that water.

Buck folded his arms on top of his open notepad, and laid his head on them. He wondered if this was how his mother had felt when she came to the twin realisations that pops had "a little problem" and that she was willing to live with it. She must have at some point. Or was it that by the time she knew, it'd already been too late: ring on her finger and baby on the way and no choices left? It wasn't that she'd never seemed to care about all the trouble. It was that she never for a second thought about leaving, and had mourned pops so passionately for such a long time. Whatever problem she'd had, she'd been able to live with it. Pops, on the other hand, hadn't been able to live like that at all.

He heard Don retching, then the toilet flushing, and the sink again.

Groaning, Buck dug the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw stars. The whole line of thought was ridiculous, anyway. Buck could throw Don out if he got sick of the boozing, and this was only until graduation, at the longest. No one was marrying anyone else, and Don's drinking or his nightmares or his loneliness or his sexual interests weren't Buck's problem. They were just roommates.

"Hey," Don's voice was softer, a little less slurred. Buck started. He hadn't heard Don leave the bathroom, but he was leaning against the kitchen counter, hands shoved in his pockets, looking a little green still, but slightly more clear-eyed. "You all right, buddy?"

"Just tired."

"Oh," Don said, frowning. "I was hoping... well, never mind. I should hit the sack too."

Buck pushed himself to his feet and went and poured them each a glass of water.

Don nodded gratefully and sat across from him, looking at the books spread out across it with sudden curiosity. "You're gonna make a great teacher," he said with ten times the assurance than Buck felt.

"How much did you have to drink?" Buck asked, wanting to dismiss the whole idea.

But Don took it all wrong, leaning back and scowling at Buck. "Was just a few beers," he snapped.

Buck opened his mouth to explain, and then closed it, stomach twisting and mouth tasting sour as if he'd been the one drinking. "I don't care," he said shortly, and then flipped his notebook closed. "I'm not..." he stopped himself before he said anything about wives, and amended to, "I'm not your mother, for Christ's sake. Or Major Winters."

"I..." Don said, then shook his head. He slumped forward on the table so that his head rested on his folded arms, looking like Buck had when he'd come in. "I didn't mean to stay out that late," he whined, "I never do. Jesus. That sounds bad. Sounds like my old man."

Buck had half stood, planning to leave in a huff or something equally inane, but now settled back into the chair across from Don and reached out to rest his hand on Don's hunched shoulder. He didn't sound like Buck's old man. Pops had stopped making excuses years before he died. He didn't say anything, just sat there with his hand rising and falling as Don breathed.

Finally, Don wiped his eyes on his sleeve and said, "Sorry, Buck. I know you wanted to split the rent, not have to pour your roommate into bed."

Wordlessly, Buck moved his hand from Don's shoulder to cup the side of his neck. His skin was clammy and felt too cool, the flush of drink already turning into a hangover. He wanted to tell Don to drink his untouched glass of water, but he had just said he wasn't his mother. "You can't say I didn't know what I was signing up for," Buck said; he'd known, had known it would end badly, had done it anyway. He wondered if that was much different than Don going out for "just one drink."

A different kind of need, maybe. Just touching Don was starting to turn Buck on. He could feel heat filling his face and his dick twitching, and wondered what the hell was wrong with him. Another question Buck already knew the answer to. He pulled his hand back, a little too abruptly, and Don started slightly, but didn't look up. Buck wondered if he was planning to sleep there, or if he already _was_ sleeping there.

Apparently not. "I wish I could stop thinking about it," Don said, voice floating, almost distant, as if he'd been hypnotised, or was talking about someone else. "I close my eyes sometimes, and I'm back there, and Doc Roe's got his hand on my shoulder just like you did, and he's telling me Skip's been hit. I'd swear I was there, back in that moment, but then I open my eyes, and I'm not." Don's next words hit Buck so hard they knocked the breath out of him. "Lip gave me Hoob's Luger, later. I hung onto it for a while. Used to think about... well, you know."

"No," Buck snapped, not sure if he was denying that he knew, or denying that it was something that Don could have thought about. "Don. No."

Don still had his face pressed into his arms, but Buck could see the blush tipping his ears. Buck regretted saying anything and starting this whole thing, and even more regretted being stuck for words now.

"I didn't want to die," Don said, trying to placate Buck. "Not really. I guess I just didn't know if I could keep living like that. I'd hold it and think of Hoob, and think maybe." He shifted, shrugging his shoulders to curl more tightly in on himself. The only way he could say this was by not looking Buck in the eye. "Maybe just in the leg. It wouldn't hurt so bad, and they'd let me go to the hospital for a bit. Until it was over. You know?"

Buck nodded, but he couldn't say he'd ever thought about it. If he'd been able to think about it, maybe he'd been able to talk himself back into some kind of courage, instead of his brain screaming like a turbine on fire, and then going numb. After, he'd lain in the still, chill of nothing, like a body asleep in the snow, and that had been better. They'd given him morphine in the field hospital, and that was better still. After, he'd just tried to push the whole thing out of his thoughts. Don, though, had considered giving himself a million-dollar wound, and decided against it.

"You didn't," Buck said. His hand hovered over Don's shoulder again, but he thought of Roe, and stopped, instead putting it flat on the table next to Don's, their fingers a hair's width apart. "You didn't. _You_ stuck it out. Don. Come on, you're the bravest man I've ever met. How many days were you in combat?"

"A hundred and seventy seven," Don answered without hesitation.

"See," Buck said. He hadn't been through half that. "See. You're the roughest toughest son of a bitch in the whole company. You gotta just keep holding on like that. You'll get through all this."

"That's not the point."

Buck shook his head. "Don, come on."

Finally, finally Don lifted his head and looked at Buck, his eyes were wet, but his jaw was set with that stubborn line he'd gotten when he'd told Buck there was no way he was leaving him behind in Holland. "I wasn't tougher or rougher or braver. I was just, I don't know, Buck. Maybe it was just luck? Maybe God flipped a coin. Like He did when Skip and Alex got hit, and I didn't. It doesn't make me a better man because I was in a different foxhole."

"Luck, sure," Buck said. He'd thought, sometimes, that the boys who'd died had been the lucky ones, especially if they died quick and clean in combat, or even in the arms of his buddies like Hoobler. It'd be so much easier to have all his choices stripped away and just get to the bit where he had to square his soul with whatever came next. The idea was just more cowardice, but sometimes Buck didn't care. He couldn't say that to Don though, not when Don was still looking at him like he thought Buck was going to have some kind of answer. "Skip would want you to be happy," Buck said, finally. "Wherever he is, he's glad you're alive. I know that much."

"Yeah," Don said. "All that gets me up some days."

Something in his tone nearly froze Buck's blood, and he asked carefully, "Don, do you still have that Luger?"

"Naw, gave it to my kid brother."

Buck nodded. One less thing to worry about, at least. He didn't think he'd have been able to keep himself from ransacking Don's things just to get the damn thing out of the house.

"What gets you up?" Don asked, and then, his brain coming around to the double meaning, buried his face in his hands and started to giggle.

Buck managed to hold his expression in place for about five seconds, and then burst into laughter the same as Don. It wasn't even funny, but the sudden release in tension sent his nerves spinning, and it seemed like the wheel had landed on hysteria. He said something, trying to calm Don down, batted at his shoulder, and then collapsed forward into helpless guffaws.

"I meant in the morning," Don managed a few minutes later, but Buck was wiping tears from his eyes, and couldn't answer. "I didn't mean, Christ, although..."

Buck should have stopped Don right there. He should have told him that he'd said no on Sunday, and he'd meant it, that this couldn't go anywhere, but looking at Don's face flushed pink with laughter, his hair rumpled and falling in his face—even if he smelled like a brewery floor—it just set Buck's soul back to that drumbeat of _Don, Don, Don, Don, Don._ It was late, and Buck was tired of being the better man. He was tired of resisting. The answer to Don's unintentional question was sitting right in front of him, and Buck was tired or pretending it wasn't.

"Shut up, Malarkey," He growled, and while Don was still gawping at him, Buck leaned across the table, grabbed him by the collar and kissed him.

It didn't work, at first. Don was gape mouthed and slow to catch on, and Buck had the angle of their faces wrong so that his nose jabbed into Don's cheek. Don tasted of stale beer and cigarettes, just like he had that night in Aldbourne, and that was what brought the whole thing rushing back for Buck. He let go of Don's collar so that he could bury his hands in his hair, tilting his head so that their mouths matched properly. He licked at Don's lips, and that, finally seemed to kick something loose. Don groaned and started to kiss him back.

Buck had the kitchen table digging into his stomach, and his back ached from leaning over like this, but he couldn't have broken the kiss for anything. His whole body was calling him to it, had been calling him to it since he'd first seen Don walking across campus, or was it in the barracks in Aldbourne? Buck didn't know any more. All he knew was that Don was leaning into the kiss and moaning against Buck's mouth like Buck was sucking him off, not kissing him. He had his hands on Buck's shoulders, clenching tight, but Buck wasn't going to try to get away now. He'd already surrendered.

Don's hair slid through his fingers as he stroked through it again and again. Buck tightened his grip as Don's tongue touched his own, and Don whimpered, but didn't try to pull away. The feel of his lips on Buck's sent sparks through Buck's body, skittering along his nerves and across his skin until he felt it prickle from his scalp down to his toes. His dick pressed uncomfortably against the edge of the table, but Buck didn't think he'd have ever ended this kiss if Don hadn't pulled away first.

After a long, breathless moment, Don wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and asked haltingly, "I thought... um... I thought you said you couldn't do this."

"You really complaining?" Buck demanded, wanting to shift the second guessing to the morning after, where it belonged. At that moment, all he wanted was to be as close to Don as possible, damn the consequences.

"You know I'm not, just..." Don shook his head sharply. "Yeah, never mind. You're the one that's sober."

"Damn right I am," Buck said, and stood. His back creaked from too many hours bent over the table, and he took a moment to stretch, enjoying the way Don watched his muscles flex under his t-shirt. "Too sober to do it on the kitchen floor." He held his hand out to Don, and led him into the bedroom when he took it.

Don wanted to kiss some more once they got there; now that they'd started, his hands ran all over Buck's chest and then down to the edge of his shirt to slide up his back, his nails scratching lightly at Buck's skin. Buck wanted their clothes gone already, and got Don's jacket off his shoulders before it tangled around Don's arms, then gave up and started to unbutton his shirt. His hands were steadier than they had any right to be with Don planting sloppy kisses all over his face, hands now dipping under Buck's belt, questing for his ass. Buck missed the last button, and it pinged off and rolled under the bed when Buck yanked Don's shirt out from his pants. Don breaking the kiss to laugh against Buck's shoulder gave Buck enough room to get both the jacket and shirt off Don's shoulders. He pulled his own t-shirt off, and then they were skin to skin and kissing again. It still felt strange to do this without their dog tags tangling between them.

Buck rubbed his cock against Don's hip, and felt Don grin against the kiss.

"Jesus, I want to suck you off," Don said, breath hot in Buck's ear. He shoved at Buck's chest, clearly trying to push him backwards onto the bed so that he could get his pants open, but not having the coordination to do it. Buck dropped to the edge of the bed and spread his legs, working his belt open in case Don wasn't up to the task.

Don could get Buck's fly undone at least, and jerked his pants down enough to free his cock, which he unhesitatingly started to lick like an ice cream cone. Buck grabbed the edge of the mattress to keep from taking a handful of Don's hair and pulling him down so that Buck could thrust into his mouth. He kept trying to lift his hips to get more contact, only for Don to bat at his thighs and dodge it.

"Malark, please," Buck found himself saying, and he was the sober one, the one who should have some restraint. After so long, he needed to feel Don's lips wrapped around his dick, not down nuzzling his balls, which is what Don was doing now. Buck stared at the curve of Don's back as he bent over him, even out of shape, he still had a great body, and his ruddy hair gleamed against Buck's pale skin. "Please, Donny," Buck whined.

Don looked up, eyes crinkled, chin resting on Buck's thigh. His cheeks were shiny with spit, and it was too easy to imagine Buck's come all over his face. "You want something, pal?" Don asked.

Buck closed his eyes. He could feel the heat in his face: the humiliation of begging for something he'd said he didn't want overriding the lust rushing through his body, but it didn't last. It never did. He wanted everything from Don.

"Buck?" Don said more softly, a question in his voice.

"Christ," Buck muttered. He wasn't going to let Don down again, either, not again. He opened his eyes and met Don's gaze, hating how his brow was crinkled with concern. He reached over and put his hand on the back of Don's head, sinking his fingers back into his hair, and tugging his head back towards Buck's dick. "I want you to suck me off," he said, and added, "please," for good measure.

Don nodded slightly, as if he'd just accepted a mission from his officer, and braced his forearms along Buck's thighs before he bent down again. Buck guided his head, not pushing him onto his cock, but showing him that he wanted this. Don's arms on his legs wouldn't let him rise up to meet his mouth, and Buck had to focus on holding still and taking it as Don sloppily bobbed up and down. Buck tried to tell him how good it felt, how much he wanted Don, but the hot slide of his mouth and the way his tongue kept rolling along the bottom of Buck's dick stripped everything except moans of pleasure from him.

He didn't think Don had done this in a while either, or maybe he was just too drunk to make a game of drawing Buck out like he had in Aldbourne. Now, Don just sucked and licked and dragged his lips up and down Buck's shaft, making wet slurping sounds all the while. The sounds were what did it, in the end, the pure wantonness of them. Don wanted to bring Buck off so bad that he didn't care what he sounded like, or who knew it. Buck let his head fall back and his hand ride up and down on Don's head, and drifted with the pleasure rushing through him. He was whimpering too, just as needy as Don, but it felt too good to care. None of that mattered right now.

Buck's legs trembled as the orgasm built inside him, and he tugged at Don's hair to warn him, but Don responded by sinking further down onto Buck's cock, and then pulling away slowly, sucking hard as he dragged Buck over the top.

"Dammit, dammit, dammit," Buck muttered, wondering how the hell Don could feel this good, and why Buck hadn't let him do this weeks ago.

Buck fell back across the bed, and let Don suck him as the last spasms of orgasm twitched through him. He still had his hand in Don's hair, stroking lightly now, running his thumb across the tender place behind Don's ear. His thoughts swirled with the gratification of sex, and he couldn't yet pin them down. He knew that the shame would follow later, like it had after Aldbourne, but for now he didn't care.

Propping himself up on one elbow, Buck tugged at Don's shoulder. "Come on. I owe you one."

Don climbed onto the bed, kneeling astride Buck's hips with his hands on Buck's shoulders for balance. He grinned down at Buck, his face still a mess of spit and come. Buck pulled him in for a kiss, and Don let him take it slow. It'd been a while since he'd tasted himself like that, and Buck ran his tongue along the inside of Don's lips, trying to decide what he thought of it. It wasn't as strange as it should have been. He remembered doing this in Aldbourne, and liking it then.

Buck flipped Don off of him and kicked out of his own pants before rolling on top of him. He fumbled Don's pants open one handed while kissing him, and then stopped. He could feel Don's cock through his underwear, but he didn't seem to be turned on.

Mortified, Buck drew his hand back and rolled off of Don. Was this some kind of favour? Did Don really not want Buck after all? He couldn't stand the idea that Don had sucked him off purely because he felt bad for him. "I'm sorry," Buck started to say, mind scrambling for some way to extract himself from all this, even while he knew the humiliation of it would burn through him for the rest of his life.

"Hey, no, Buck," Don rolled over too, catching Buck's wrist to hold him in place. "It's just... it's not that. I'm sorry."

Buck jerked his arm away. "It's no problem," he said. He tried to smile like it didn't matter, but couldn't make it stick. It turned out there was something worse than being a queer: being a queer that no one wanted. Had Don even wanted to suck Buck off, or had that just been the drink? "It's fine, Don."

"Jesus Christ," Don muttered and pitched himself across the bed. He landed with his elbow on Buck's solar plexus, driving the wind out of him. Buck lay gasping, trying to suck in air against the weight of Don sprawled across his chest. His face was flushed scarlet, but he stayed where he was until Buck looked him in the eye. "It's just whiskey dick, for fuck's sake," he snapped when Buck finally did. "It's not... Christ, there's the luck of the Irish for ya. Been trying to get you to put your hands down my pants for _weeks_ and when you finally do..."

"Oh." Buck relaxed back into the mattress, absently running his hand up and down Don's spine. He should have thought of that; Don had been smashed when he'd come in. "Aw, Christ, I'm sorry. Anything I can do?"

Don let his head fall forward onto Buck's collarbone and groaned. "If having the man of my dreams naked in bed with me isn't going to do it, there's not much for it."

"Shhh, it's all right," Buck said. He cradled Don's head against his chest and kept rubbing his palms over his back. The bit about the man of Don's dreams ran through his head, and he couldn't help the flush of pride. Poor Don. Buck had never failed to get it up when needed, but he could taste the vicarious humiliation. He kissed Don's hair and the tip of his ear. "It's all right. I'll owe you one, okay?"

Don sighed then nodded. They were lying awkwardly, their legs half off the bed, so Don curled into a ball against Buck's chest and let himself be held. "Can I sleep here?" he asked.

Buck thought of the aching loneliness of sleeping by himself in a bed meant for two, and wondered that he hadn't invited Don into it before. He'd known where this would end from the moment he invited Don to stay; why had he bothered wasting time? "Sure," he said, "but how about under the covers, huh?"

"Jeeze, you suck a man's dick, and suddenly he thinks he can boss you around," Don grumbled, but let himself be rolled over while Buck got the blankets sorted out. He tried to sit up to pull his shoes off, but Buck pushed him down and did it for him, stripping him to his shorts and socks.

Kneeling on the floor between Don's legs as he lay flopped on his back, staring idly at the ceiling, Buck wondered what it would be like to suck another man off. The way people said it—an insult shouted across the barracks, an snarled oath on the field where the ref couldn't hear, a way to dismiss a man as not being a man—it'd never seemed like something Buck could do, but Don hadn't minded, had even seemed to enjoy himself. He hadn't seemed to mind back in Aldbourne either, had even let Buck take him up the ass, which should have made him even lower, less than a cock sucker, one of any of a dozen other cruel names. But Buck couldn't look at Don lying there humming "Moonlight Cocktail" again, and think of him as a pansy or a nancy boy. He was just _Don_ , Buck's Don, the most precious thing in Buck's life, now or possibly ever.

Buck nudged Don's legs until he got turned around and lying with his head on the pillow and both feet under the covers, then stood.

"Hey come back," Don called after him, sounding plaintive enough that he seemed to actually think that Buck could leave him there and either go back to his books or sleep on Don's cot.

"In a minute," Buck told him, and went to get that glass of water, which he made Don drink before he got into bed himself. Buck was still naked, but he'd never minded sleeping like that, and didn't want to hunt up his shorts, kicked in a tangle into some corner. He lay on his side facing Don, and watched him. From the little street light that made it in through the curtains, he was still lying on his back staring up at the ceiling.

"I'm sorry," Don said again, and he was so sincerely miserable that Buck moved on instinct, pulling Don into an embrace and letting him curl up against his chest. "Wanted to show you a good time."

"I know you did," Buck told him, stroking his hair. "Gotta tell you, it felt pretty good from my end."

"Yeah?" Don asked, voice muffled against Buck's chest.

"Yeah." Buck tugged the blankets more tightly around them and kissed the top of Don's head. "The best."

"Can you hold me like this?"

"Of course," Buck promised, and they fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms.

* * *

Buck woke still curled around Don, who had shifted in his sleep so that his back was to Buck's chest, spooned up inside his embrace. Some time in the night, Buck had lost all feeling in his left hand, the weight of Don's head cutting off blood circulation. He tried to move it, and it flopped like a dead fish. Don murmured something and shifted in his sleep, but didn't wake.

What he did do was rub his ass against Buck's cock, which had apparently woken up considerably before Buck had. Any minute now, Don was going to wake up to Buck's morning wood pressing into his thighs, which Buck suspected Don wouldn't overly mind. Certainly, Buck could feel the temptation to slide his hand down from where it rested at the base of Don's ribs to see if sleep and water had restored him over night.

He kissed along Don's shoulder blade, then nibbled lightly at the back of his neck until he groaned and shifted again, slowly coming to life in Buck's arms. Buck again tried to move his left hand, and had no luck.

"Hey, good morning," Buck said.

Don made a sound like he didn't agree and snuggled back into Buck's embrace. He was definitely rubbing his ass against Buck's dick on purpose. Buck gave in to temptation, not that he'd been doing much of a job holding out lately, and felt the front of Don's shorts. He was definitely showing more interest than he had been the night before. He was also squirming.

"Much as I want to see where that goes," Don said, "I gotta piss."

He wriggled out of Buck's embrace and bolted for the bedroom door, leaving Buck alone in bed with an aching hard on. Buck flopped his dead hand disconsolately, trying to get feeling back. From the sound of running water, Don was brushing his teeth, too. Buck would have appreciated the attention to hygiene more if Don hadn't bounced back into bed just as his hand was sending jabs of pins and needles right up to his shoulder.

Buck yelped in pain, Don attempted to console him, and by the time they'd sorted all that out, the problem of Buck's erection had solved itself.

"Sorry," Don said for about the twelfth time.

Buck buried his face in the pillow and groaned. At least he could finally roll over and check the bedside clock. He barely had forty minutes until his first class, he considered blowing it, then thought about his already precarious grasp of the subject and banged his head against the pillow. He was not missing graduation because he had to retake an economics exam.

"Listen," Buck said, "I've got practice this afternoon, then work. I won't get in until pretty late."

Don's brows drew together, and he frowned down at Buck. He'd found a t-shirt somewhere in there, and was sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed, while Buck lay naked, hips barely covered by the sheet. "I think we need to talk about this now," Don said, with more determination in his voice than Buck had expected. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that Don had led a platoon of paratroopers.

"I..." Buck started to protest, but then shook his head. "Fine."

"Fine?" Don asked, and rubbed his hands over his face and through his hair, which stood up at all angles. "Last weekend you said you couldn't do this, and God knows I was _trying_ to let you be, then suddenly you're kissing me and letting me suck you off. If we don't decide this now, we'll be back to pretending we're just friends by lunch, and I am going to have to check myself in some place else, like a hotel or a loony bin."

Buck was pretty sure it would be better if they did go back to being friends. They were good friends, and Don maybe had a chance of finding someone better, someone who deserved him. Buck tried to picture it, the deliberate space, the growing tension, the inevitable tumble back into bed, over and over again until the end of the year. "I'm sorry, Don. I don't think I can be your friend," he said.

Don took a sharp breath, but didn't flinch back or even look like he'd taken a hit. "Do you want me to move out?"

"No!" Buck snapped, before he knew where the word came from. His hand shot out and clutched Don's bare knee, and the sheet fell off Buck's hips as he moved. He bit his tongue before he could beg Don not to leave him.

"Hey, hey, no, it's okay." Don put his hand over Buck's then stroked up and down his forearm, his eyes followed the lines of Buck's naked body, now spread out in front of him. "I want to stay, I just, I can't keep doing this, you know? It's driving me nuts. I gotta know what you want."

Buck bounced his head on the pillow and closed his eyes. He knew what he wanted, and he knew what he wanted to not want. He wished he were the man who didn't desperately want Don Malarkey, the man who stayed on the line, no matter what, but he wasn't, and he didn't think he ever would be. "I want you to stay," he said, "and I want us to be... to be like last night, but..." He stopped. He was throwing impossible wishes out into the world anyway, so why not say this last one? Still, the words caught, and he blushed and couldn't look at Don.

Don's hand had gotten up to Buck's shoulder and was squeezing the muscles there in a haphazard massage. "But?" he asked, and Buck knew that his tone implied that he'd promise anything just then. He probably would have from the start, if Buck had asked.

The reason Buck hadn't was that he knew the sick shame of making a promise that you knew you could never keep even as the words left your mouth. The shame of that was almost worse than the humiliation that came on the inevitable break with your word. Buck's father had made the promise Buck was about to ask for over and over and over, until the shame had been too much, and he'd found another way out. What right did Buck have to even ask?

"Buck?" Don asked, unsure now. He could feel the weight of the condition hanging over both of them already, and his hand stilled on Buck's shoulder. "Come on, buddy. We'll work it out." He rubbed his face again, and Buck realised he probably had a headache from the hangover.

"But I wish you'd lay off the sauce, you know?" Buck finally said.

Don yanked his hand back and folded his arms over his chest. "Look, I'm not," he started to say, but caught himself. He stopped talking entirely and looked away, face tight with embarrassment. "I'm sorry I couldn't get it up for you last night," he said.

They were bargaining already and Buck hated it. He rolled on his back so he didn't have to watch Don do this. He didn't think he could take that kind of heartbreak. He probably wouldn't have to, either way. If he laid down the law on this, Don would probably leave rather than make any promises they both knew he couldn't keep. That would be a strange way to get what he wanted, alone again because he'd insisted on a principle. That had been on that damn list, too.

"It wasn't that," Buck said. "It's... it's too much for me. I can't take watching you coming in juiced three, four nights a week. It's too much like..." This time he was the one who broke off. He wasn't going to be the sad sack who dragged up problems with his daddy to win an argument. "Look, do you want to end up like Nixon?"

Don choked and fell forward in a sudden burst of laughter, his forehead colliding with Buck's shoulder. Buck smiled and patted his hair.

"Nixon?" He spluttered.

Buck sighed slightly, and wished he'd used a different example. For reasons he'd never been able to completely decipher, the guys had seemed to, if not like Nixon, then at least consider him one of their own. "You know, handsome, rich, has a town named after him," Buck said, trying to shrug it off. "That'd be terrible."

Don's hair was soft under his palm, and he kept stroking it, waiting as Don relaxed. This part was nice, the quiet moments where they could just touch, and be together. Buck sighed and leaned over to kiss Don's forehead. He wasn't going to get a promise out of Don, and maybe that was for the best. This way, they both went in knowing what they were getting into, and no one had any false hopes about how it was going to end.

"I don't know, Buck," Don said. He put his hand on Buck's stomach, spread wide over the lean muscles there. "I wish I could tell you something better than that I'll think about it."

"Okay." That was more than Buck had expected. He put his arms around Don's shoulders and pulled him over so that they were lying side by side. "Thank you."

Don nodded miserably, his forehead rocking back and forth across Buck's shoulder. Buck thought that maybe it would be better if they didn't try this. He certainly wasn't making Don any happier, but he'd already said it, and there weren't many places he could go from there.

He kissed the side of Don's neck, then the point of his jaw, lips lingering against stubble until Don turned to look at him, then kissed him on the lips. Don had brushed his teeth somewhere in there, and tasted sharply of mint. Buck probably had morning breath, but ignored it.

Buck had already missed the start of his first class, and figured that he might as well make the best of the morning, so he stroked Don's thigh below the hem of his shorts, and asked, "You think you could get it up for me now?"

Don kissed Buck's shoulder and smiled up at him through his lashes. "I could give it a try."

"I know you're always put in maximum effort," Buck told him, and Don snorted and propped himself up on his elbow to look at Buck.

The sheet had fallen away entirely, and Buck could almost feel the heat of his gaze as it ran down his body, lingered on his crotch, and then drifted back up to meet Buck's eyes again.

"Christ, you’re beautiful," Don said, almost awed, and Buck wanted to look away, but he couldn't stand not looking at Don. Beautiful wasn't something you called another fellow, not with that depth of sincerity, not unless you meant it to mean he was girlish. But Don did mean it, and Buck's chest warmed at the admiration. His cock also took an interest, and apparently not minding being called pretty. Buck knew that he should say something back, but couldn't think of anything that wouldn't cheapen Don's earnestness.

Instead, Buck figured he'd put his mouth to better use, and kissed Don again. He leaned in enough that Don rolled onto his back and let Buck hover over him, hands in Buck's hair to make sure he kept it up. Buck braced against Don's shoulder, incidentally pinning him to the bed, and opened his mouth to catch Don's breathy sighs. He was wearing that damn t-shirt, and the fabric slipped under Buck's hand. "Let's get this off you," he murmured, and Don propped himself up on his elbows so that Buck could peel him out of it.

"Don't know why I got dressed," Don muttered. "Didn't want to..."

Buck hushed him with another kiss, but now that he had Don almost stripped, wanted to spend time looking at him. He kissed Don's throat, and then started to shift down his body. Don was pale like him, and his skin showed his emotion: desire flushing down his neck to his chest, even as the passage of Buck's mouth left a trail of goosebumps. Not that he needed signs. Don had always been so goddamn open, everything he felt showing on his face, in his posture, coming out of his damn mouth, like the plea for more when Buck licked across his nipple, or the whimper when Buck swept his hand down in advance and found that Don very much could get it up this morning. Finding Don moaning and wriggling as Buck stroked him through his shorts only turned Buck on more, and he had to kneel up to make room for his dick.

He was down to Don's stomach now, softer than Buck's now that he wasn't constantly training. Buck followed the trail of hair down from his belly button until it disappeared under the edge of his shorts, then hesitated. When he looked up, Don was watching him wide eyed. They'd never done this. It had always been Don who sucked him or let him fuck him.

"You don't have to," Don said, brow crinkling in concern.

"No, I..." Buck swallowed, cleared his throat. He probably shouldn't say that if he was going to be a fairy, he might as well do the whole bit. "Do you want me to?"

"Hell yeah," Don said, and reached down to playfully shove Buck's head towards his shorts.

Buck twisted out of his hold and said, "Look, you're gonna have to tell me if I'm messing it up, all right?"

"Wait, you've never," Don started, but buttoned his lips before he managed to say anything that might put Buck off his game before he got off.

"First time for everything," Buck said with more cheer than he was feeling. It was hard to shove the phrase "cock sucking son of a bitch" out of his head, but maybe it fit after all, or would in a minute. He shuffled further down the bed until his feet were hanging off the end and took the waist of Don's shorts in both hands, taking a breath before he pulled them down in one swift motion. He pulled them all the way off, and only when they were tossed on the floor with the rest of their clothes looked up at Don's naked body.

Don spread his legs a little, and Buck shuffled to kneel between them. He thought this would be easier if he was on the floor like Don had been last night, as the hunching crouch felt cramped and unnatural, but maybe it was just kneeling between another fellow's legs, staring at his erect cock that felt wrong. Though Buck couldn't say his own dick had any problems with the proceedings. Buck ran his hands up Don's thighs until he was bracketing his hips, and leaned in closer.

He'd never really looked at Don's dick before, or anyone's, and the whole thing suddenly struck him as ridiculous, but then Buck looked back up at Don, and saw him staring back at him and biting his lip. His hazel eyes were dark with lust, but at the same time he was chewing the inside of his lip nervously, and his hands were bunched into fists on the mattress. Buck didn't know if Don was worried that he was going to fuck up giving someone head, or if he was more worried that Buck was going to decide he wasn't a queer after all and flee, leaving Don high and dry.

"You, uh, oh never mind." Buck decided that any amount of instruction wasn't going to help, even if his only experience with the mechanics of this centred around Don's drunken enthusiasm. He didn't want to mess around with all the licking and teasing, and just opened his mouth and lowered his head.

Buck tried to hold his mouth open wide enough that his teeth wouldn't touch Don's dick, but still managed to scrape down his shaft, making Don yelp. Trying to mutter an apology when you had your lips wrapped around someone's cock didn't work at all. Buck groaned, which did work, or at least made Don's hips twitch under Buck's hold. Encouraged, Buck sank down again. He couldn't seem to fit very much of it in his mouth without starting to choke, and worried that it wasn't really doing much. He glanced up, and saw that Don had his head thrown back, and all he could see was an expanse of chest and throat topped by a stubbled chin.

Don had been a lot better at this, but Buck suspected that Don had practised on more than one person, which wasn't a train of thought he wanted to be on board right then either. Buck drew his head back and sucked, which got a soft cry out of Don. So did moving back down again as far as he could, and rolling his tongue along Don's shaft. At least he wasn't objecting, so Buck probably wasn't making too much of a mess of things. A nasty part of Buck's mind suggested that of course he'd be good at this, that this was all he should be good for, but he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on what was getting the best noise out of Don. Buck liked that he could please him, and that was enough for now.

He found a rhythm eventually, bobbing up and down and moving his tongue a lot. Buck's jaw was starting to get sore even after a few minutes. Buck sighed through his nose, and started to move faster.

"Oh, God, yeah," Don groaned, and patted blindly until he found Buck's shoulder and squeezed it. "Yeah, faster, just like that, Christ."

His thighs had started to shake, and Buck had to force Don's hips into the mattress to keep him from thrusting up and choking him. As much as he liked the praise now rolling off Don's lips, Buck wasn't sure he was doing this right. It didn't feel like the unchecked ardour that Don had poured onto him the night before. It felt awkward, and strange, and Buck could feel his own erection flagging as embarrassment prickled across his skin.

He glanced up at Don again, this time finding that Don had leaned up enough to watch him. Their eyes met, and Don must have caught the anxiety on Buck's face, because he moved his hand to the back of Buck's neck and squeezed lightly. "You're doing great. You feel so damn good," Don told him, and that just made the embarrassment worse. He sucked harder, digging his fingers into Don's hips to keep him still.

Buck didn't know if Don was holding himself back to draw the pleasure out, or if Buck wasn't doing a very good job, but he thought this was going on for longer than it should. Buck wanted more of that praise, Don to scream and beg and fall apart for him, but he wasn't sure how long he could reasonably keep this up. He let go of Don's hip and stroked up and down his leg, hoping the extra contact would help, and Don did moan appreciatively, but didn't come, either. Glancing up, Don was looking away again, and Buck couldn't tell what he wanted; he couldn't ask, maybe wouldn't if he could.

Trying to think of what had made him feel good, Buck hummed, which sounded ridiculous, but made Don's legs tighten around his, and inspired another round of pleading. Don's hand on his neck was pulling him down, wanting him to go deeper, which Buck didn't think was going to work out for either of them, but he let himself be guided until the head of Don's cock brushed the back of his mouth and stayed there, sucking and running his tongue up and down, up and down, as Don twitched and moaned under him.

Finally, Don's words started to stutter and break, and his thigh tensed under Buck's hand. Buck could feel the pause before Don came, the second his breath caught, and his body went completely still, and pulled back, finishing Don with a short jerk of his hand. Don's hold slipped off Buck's neck, trailing down his shoulder to lightly clutch at Buck's hand on his dick as he shot come across his belly. A moment later, he started breathing again, gasping in air as he lifted his head to look down at Buck again.

If Buck had been doing a proper job, he probably would have stayed with it, would even have swallowed Don's come, but he didn't know if he was ever going to be much good at this sort of thing. It felt like the half game he'd played as fullback, spending the whole thing fumbling the ball and getting clobbered before slinking back to centre guard. He let his head fall forward so that his forehead rested on Don's thigh, their skin slippery with sweat, though Don felt flushed and hot to Buck's clammy.

Don patted him on the shoulder again, trying to pull him upward. "Hey, come here, you," he muttered, and Buck tried to remember if he was the kind of guy who needed to nap right after he came. He crawled up the bed to lie beside Don again, kissing him in hope of distracting him. Buck wondered if he should apologise, but Don was grinning at him with that soft, fond look in his eyes so probably not. "It's weird the first time," Don said, proving he had noticed Buck's awkwardness. He kissed Buck again as if in apology. "You did real good, you felt so good."

Don's hand was rubbing up and down Buck's back, following the ridge of his spine and then squeezing and kneading his ass. Presumably, he didn't want to screw Buck just that moment, but maybe that was on the books for later, or maybe he didn't want that at all. Buck really had no idea how any of this was supposed to work. All he knew was that Don's hand on his ass was getting him going again, and he shifted so that he could rub his hardening dick against Don's hip. He rolled forward so that he was half draped over Don's body, one knee between Don's, and his weight braced on his elbows. That spread his legs, and Don's finger found their way between his ass cheeks, fondling the marks of that damn German bullet, before going deeper to touch Buck's asshole.

Buck had never thought one way or another about what that would feel like. He'd liked screwing Don in Aldbourne, but he hadn't been sure what a man got out of it, but that fingertip tracing the circle over his hole lit his nerves on fire. Buck couldn't tell if it was just the new sensation, feeling something forbidden, or if his skin was more alive to Don's touch in that spot. Maybe it was just that Don's constant kisses and roaming hands were lighting up his nerves so that anything Don did felt good. Buck spread his legs wider in response.

"You can later," Buck promised. At least for that he'd probably be face down, and could hide any awkwardness against the pillow.

"Yeah, maybe," Don said, but instead of pushing further, he slid his hand around between Buck's legs to roll his balls in his palm. "Rather work out what you like right now, huh?"

Buck whimpered at the pressure, closing his eyes against the blur of Don's face, "I guess I'm easy," he muttered.

"Yeah?" Don asked, raking his fingers through Buck's cropped hair, scratching at his scalp even as he kept stroking his balls.

Buck rocked his hips trying to find something to rub his dick against, but the angle was all wrong, unless he wanted to jam his cock into Don's stomach. This was all too complicated. It was easier when they were both drunk, and the fumbling was at least explicable. Even Buck's first time with a girl hadn't been this stop and start. His arms were getting tired holding his weight above Don's body, and he really hadn't thought this position out very well. Buck tried to turn his face away, but Don caught his chin and held his face steady so that he could kiss him again. At least the kissing worked. Buck thought he could spend his life kissing Don; he was so responsive, his lips sliding perfectly against Buck's tongue just touching his lips, not trying to examine Buck's tonsils.

"Shhh," Don murmured against Buck's lips. "Hang on, just let me, there, try that."

Don'd squirmed up the bed, his head now propped against the wall. It'd offset their bodies enough that Buck could slide his dick into the warm space between Don's legs. Buck sighed with relief as he thrust forward, Don's legs clenching tight around him. Don stroked up and down his back in time with Buck's jerking hips, then faster, urging him on. Buck felt brutal for letting his body go, huffing out a breath each time he plunged back into the slick warmth, but he had a morning worth of sexual frustration to work off, and Don kept whispering in his ear that it was okay, that Buck could have what he wanted, and Don liked what he was doing. He grabbed Buck's ass again, squeezing hard and jerking their bodies together with each thrust, and the pressure of Don's hands on his ass and being driven forward made Buck want more. 

He tried to tell Don that, but all that came out was his name over and over again, finally out loud: "Don, Don, Don, Don, Don." Every time he said it, Don would tell him, "Yes," back, like he was the one getting off, not Buck. Buck couldn't figure how any of this felt good for Don, Buck wasn't even trying, but he wasn't going to stop in the face of that kind of encouragement. His body wanted to take every scrap of contact and praise it could soak in, and Buck let go and let his lust carry him away. It wasn't the passionate lovemaking he'd thought of, sometimes, but it was what he had for now.

The strength in his arms gave out just as he came, and he collapsed forward, knocking the wind out of Don's body. Instinctively, Buck rolled off him before he'd even finished coming, and lay limp and panting, staring up at a ceiling now lit by the mid-morning sun. He was going to have to figure out what to tell Jim about missing class, and it wasn't going to be that he'd spent the morning sucking his roommate's dick. It wasn't going to be anything honest. Buck was going to have to spend the rest of his life lying about this.

Don laughed softly, and Buck would have flushed if he'd had the energy. He was, he noticed, somehow holding Don's hand, their fingers intertwined on the bed between them. Don squeezed his hand, and Buck squeezed back.

"You okay?" Don asked when Buck didn't say anything for a few minutes.

"Yeah, I, uh, yeah I'm fine," Buck told him. He didn't especially want to figure out what he was, except stunned. His body informed him that all was well with the world, but his mind felt like the bed was spinning, or maybe falling away from under him. He couldn't shake the feel of his mouth stretched wide to take in Don's cock, or the feel of Don's fingers exploring his ass. He'd probably get used to them, but did he want to?

"Sure, you sound great," Don commented, but instead of pressing Buck, he rolled over to kiss his cheek and then lay his head on Buck's shoulder. Almost automatically, Buck shifted his arm so that he could wrap it around Don's body and pull him closer. He rubbed his hand up and down Don's biceps, as if the room could be cold, and waited for a verdict. He noticed that while Don was resting lightly on his chest, he hadn't thrown his leg over Buck's hips, and his palm lay spread open on Buck's chest, not clinging to his arm. It would be easy to push him away, if Buck wanted to. "Buck," Don said, trying to sound light, but Buck could feel the tension humming through him, "if you don't want to... to do this, we can stop."

Never if he lived to be a hundred and twenty would Buck ever be over how brave Don was. How could you lie naked in the embrace of a man you felt like Don felt about Buck, and offer to give everything up?

"I don't want to stop," Buck said, surprised to find it was true even as he said it. "I don't know what the hell I want, except that."

Don heaved a sigh and seemed to melt against Buck's chest as he exhaled. He snuggled down into a proper cuddle, their bodies sticky with sweat and come, but Don not seeming to care at all. Buck didn't know if he cared either, at this point.

"I..." Buck hesitated, not sure what promises he'd be able to keep. "I want to deserve you, Don. I don't know if I can do it, but I want to try."

The hand that had been open on Buck's chest closed into a fist, and Don's breath caught in a whimper almost too low to hear, the sound a man made when he'd just taken a shot clean through, and knew the pain would hit in another heartbeat. He sniffed and wiped his nose on Buck's chest before saying, "Jesus Christ. I don't know if you noticed, Buck, but I'm one hell of a mess. I don't think anyone wants to deserve me."

"I do." Buck felt a sudden wave of certainty roll over him. He could do this. It would be work, but he was used to that; he'd worked for everything he'd ever had, fought every step of the way, to keep going no matter what kicked him in the teeth. He hadn't felt that off the field for a long time, but maybe it was time to get back to trying again. "But I gotta go to practice first, and I need a shower."

"Practice?" Don asked, "What about the rest of your classes?"

Buck nudged Don off him and rolled out of bed and onto his feet. He didn't bother picking up any clothes as he walked out of the bedroom. At the door, he hooked one hand up on the door frame and half turned. "You planning to let me shower alone, trooper?"

Don snorted and got to his feet, following Buck into the bathroom. They tried again.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos totally make my day, and I very much appreciate comments of every length, percentage of emoji, and level of coherency.


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